The Egyptian Connection
by The Blue Raven
Summary: With Rebecca missing, Phileas Fogg and Agent Blayne ‘To Catch a Spy’ race to recover her and to figure out why Agents all over Europe are killing their partners.
1. Chapter 1

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The Egyptian Connection

By: Blue

Summary: With Rebecca missing, Phileas Fogg and Agent Blayne ('To Catch a Spy') race to recover her and to figure out why Agents all over Europe are killing their partners.

Rating: PG 13

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just enjoy getting inside their heads from time to time.

Author's Note: This is the second story in my six-part SAJV series featuring Agent Blayne and her organization.

Feedback: Oh, yes please! Feed me, feed me!!!

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Chapter 1 -- When Good Missions Go Bad

Jules sighed as the wind blew his papers onto the floor for perhaps the tenth time since he had sat down to write. He would have closed the window, but it was really too stiflingly hot for that. Instead he gathered the papers together again and placed them in a drawer. No more writing until tomorrow, he decided. He took out his watch for a moment and realized that it was tomorrow. Sighing, he blew out his candle and began undressing.

"Oh, gods, I thought you would never put that light out..." a familiar voice whispered from just outside his window.

Jules looked up, startled as a figure came swinging through the window into his room, from above. "Blayne?" Jules asked in surprise. He had not seen her since right after Rebecca had been shot, and he had certainly not expected her to appear in his garret, in the middle of the night, through an opened window. He reached for a candle. "What's going on, Blayne?"

"Please, don't light it." Blayne asked urgently.

"Are you being followed?"

"I... I might be. I think I slipped them, but I can't be sure." Blayne's voice had a ragged edge to it. "Look, Jules, I'm really sorry, but I don't know anybody else in Paris..."

"It's okay. Are you in some kind of trouble?" Jules walked over to his window and pulled the curtains. "There, can I light a candle now?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Are you okay, Blayne?" Jules asked, not liking the way her voice sounded. He lit the candle and then turned to face her. He nearly dropped the candle. The voice was Blayne's. The woman speaking could not be. "Wha-"

"Oh, right." She smiled sheepishly. "Make-up, Jules. I'm passing for a Moor this week."

"You most certainly are." Jules stared in awe. Her normally pale face was swarthy, her red hair, black. Only her clothes failed to convey the appearance of a middle-eastern lady. She was dressed in her leather body-suit which had sustained a number of tears and was quite filthy. He took a step closer and saw that she was bleeding from a cut on her right temple.

"You're hurt. Let me help you." He filled his basin with water and searched around for a clean cloth.

"I'm fine. It's nothing. Just..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Nothing." She walked past Jules and poured herself a glass of water.

At this close range, he could see that the cut was not a cut at all, but a deep gash surrounded by a burn. "You've been shot!"

"A flesh-wound. An inch to the left and I wouldn't be standing here, but I wasn't so it's not a big deal."

Jules crossed himself as she produced a small vial from her pocket and added it to the water in the basin. She began scrubbing her face and neck with the foamy mixture. The make-up washed away easily, showing her flesh to be even more pale than usual.

"Are you okay? Should I call for a doctor?"

"Gods, no!" she shook her head rapidly. "I shouldn't even be here, Jules. I'm sorry. I'll leave now..."

"No you won't!" Jules said firmly. "Look at you! You've been shot, you've obviously been in some kind of a fight... And when's the last time you ate?"

She paused, derailed by this question. "Um... It's been a few days." she admitted.

"I don't have much, but I've got some almost fresh bread and some cheese and a bottle of wine."

"I'm really not hungry, Jules. I just... could I borrow your floor?"

"My floor?" Jules repeated, frowning. "What do you want with my floor?"

"I haven't slept in three nights. I'll leave in the morning, but I need some sleep or I'm going to get myself killed."

Jules nodded and maneuvered her over to his bed. He tossed her a dressing-gown. "Take my bed."

"I couldn't..."

"I won't have a guest sleeping on the floor."

"You have a good heart, Jules, but I prefer the floor." She picked up the dressing-gown and looked around for a corner to change in.

"I can blow out the candle while you..."

She shook her head. "You need to change, too. Why don't we just turn our backs to each other?" she suggested reasonably.

Jules blinked, but complied. It seemed a shocking breach of etiquette to him, but then, Blayne had never exactly been bound by traditional social mores. As he changed, he asked, "So, um, can I ask? What happened?"

"Um, Johansen and I were in Paris following up on a suspected League hide-out. He, um... we... there was an ambush. Johansen was killed."

"Oh, Blayne, I'm sorry. Had you known him long?"

"Eight years. I never..." Blayne shook her head and quickly sat down. She suddenly felt quite weak. "He... I..." She sighed and did not continue.

Jules walked over to her. "I'm so sorry..."

"I've been... hiding for the last few days. We aren't as established here as in London, so I had nowhere to go."

"You should have come here sooner."

"I promised that the next time we met the circumstances would be better."

"This is still better than last time. Do you have enough money to get back to London?"

She shook her head. "Johansen..."

He nodded. This at least explained why she was still in France. "I have a little bit stowed away for an emergency. I'd say this qualifies."

"Thank you, Jules. I'll wire it back to you as soon as I get to London."

"I'll go with you."

"No!" she protested, shaking her head wildly. "I won't put you in the kind of danger..."

"Look at you, Blayne. You're hurt, irrational, you need someone to protect you."

She stared dubiously at him. "You? Protecting me?" She laughed shrilly.

"May God have mercy on us both." Jules replied, grinning. "It's my money. I'm coming. Besides, I was thinking of visiting Fogg again anyway."

She sighed. "Either you are very persuasive or I am very tired."

"You must be tired." Jules smiled at her. "The bed's over there."

"I'm a floor-sleeper, Jules. Deal with it."

He sighed. "Okay. But if you change your mind..."

"I'll be sure to climb in with you. Thanks." She smiled broadly as she watched Jules go pale at the suggestion. "Relax, son. I'm kidding."

Jules nodded shakily and climbed into his bed. "We'll have to leave quite early, or I'll catch it from my landlady for having a woman up here."

"I can go out the window again."

"You're going to have to use the front door one of these days."

"Why?" Blayne stretched out on the floor.

Jules shook his head and blew out the candle. Blayne pulled off her wig and placed it next to her, within easy reach. She sighed and rolled onto her stomach. This was her alert position. If anything happened in the middle of the night, she would be ready from this position to spring into action. Sleep now, she ordered herself, and years of physical discipline allowed her to immediately do so. The sleep, while neither deep nor comfortable, was a welcomed dose of oblivion.

*****

Jules woke with a start the next morning at the sound of a chair scrapping across the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jules." Blayne said softly. "I didn't mean to wake you... It's early still."

"No." Jules shook his head. "It's later than I usually get up, actually." He sat up and looked at her.

She had straightened the hair of her wig into a semblance of order and was dressed in a pair of his own pants and an old shirt and vest from his closet. "I hope you don't mind. It would hardly do for me to be seen running around Paris in that." She jerked her head towards the leather body-suit.

"It's okay. They actually fit you quite well."

She smiled. "The pants are a bit short. But I've always fit better into men's clothes than into women's. I used to borrow Michel's clothes all the time." She frowned briefly.

"Michel? Your fiancé?"

She nodded. "He was just about my size, so I would borrow his clothes. Bit short in the leg, but…" she smiled faintly at what was obviously a fond memory. She looked up suddenly. "There's a train that leaves in half an hour."

"We'll take that."

"You should stay here, Jules. They may still be following me."

"All the more reason for you to have someone to back you up." Jules said firmly. He grinned. "Besides, it's my money."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but nodded acceptance. "You had better pack quickly."

Jules pulled out his carpet-bag and began shoving clothes in, more or less at random. Blayne smiled and reflected on how much such a random style of dress must distress poor Passepartout. He made room for her body-suit before closing the bag and starting for the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Blayne asked idly as he grasped the door-handle.

Jules stared at his bag thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think so..."

"Jules..." Blayne giggled. "Look down."

"What?" Jules looked down at himself. "Oh. I guess clothes might help."

Blayne nodded. "Probably." She opened his window and cautiously looked around. "I'll meet you outside."

"Be careful!" Jules called after her as she clambered out the window. Laughing to himself, he quickly dressed, retrieved his money, and started down the stairs.

"Where you sneaking off to, Verne?" a young man asked loudly as Jules tiptoed down the stairs.

"I'm not sneaking, Arnaud, I'm trying not to wake anyone." Jules sighed. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Skipping rent?" Arnaud laughed.

"Without my notebook?" Jules laughed. "I'd have to be desperate!" Laughing, he hurried down the remaining stairs. As promised, Blayne was lounging in the street, leaning against a wall. It was early enough that few people were awake and moving about outside, but the few who were kept casting rude glances Blayne's way. She appeared oblivious to them. She waved when she saw Jules and saluted him in easy French.

"Are you sure you have everything?" she asked, sticking to his native tongue.

"I didn't know you spoke French." Jules said, shaking his head in response to the question.

"You never asked. But when in Rome..." She shrugged. "As if I'm not getting stared at enough without speaking a foreign language into the mix. Thank you, no."

Jules laughed. "How many languages do you speak?"

"Enough to get by." She smiled evasively. "Give me your hat."

"Why?"

"Because, if I hide my hair under it, I might get taken for an extremely effeminate young man instead of a brazenly shameless hussy." Blayne smiled at him. The switch was quickly made, and Jules noticed that Blayne subtly altered her way of walking and talking, taking away most of what was feminine about her.

"You do this a lot?" he asked, impressed, but also a bit taken aback.

"What?" Blayne stared innocently. "Ah, here we are!"

Jules sighed and got into line to buy two tickets. "You know, it occurs to me that I know almost nothing about you, and you seem to know a great deal about me."

"There is not much about me to know, Jules." She paused. "Well, except for the story of that time I punched the President..."

"You punched President Lincoln?" Jules gasped.

She shook her head, smiling. "Oh, no! This was several presidents ago." Jules stared in shock. "But, the President? Of the United States?"

"You think that's shocking, Jules, don't ever ask about the time I met the Pope." She laughed. "Hey, can I borrow a bit to send a telegram?"

"Um... sure..." Dazed, Jules handed her a few coins.

*****

"Did you have a nice trip, Jules?" Blayne asked, smiling, as the train pulled into the London station. "It was nice."

"You didn't seem to enjoy it. Hardly said a word."

"Neither did you."

"Just thinking."

"Me too..."

"There we are, then." Blayne sighed and stared out the window of their car. "Ah, a friendly face."

Jules looked up in surprise. Sure enough, a very sun-tanned Agent Jack Rizzo was standing on the platform with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed in a long robe after the Ottoman fashion, and looked to be whistling. "Answering your telegram?" he asked.

She nodded. "He'll have enough cash to reimburse you for our trips here and yours back, plus the telegram." The train chugged to a stop and Jules and Blayne rose. The London station was always very crowded, and Jules and Blayne were quite nearly separated in the crush as they made their way towards Agent Rizzo. He waved as soon as he saw them and started walking away from the platform, gesturing for them to follow. Since many of the arrivals spent several minutes on the platform talking to whoever had arrived to meet them, Jules and Blayne were easily able to leave the platform and follow Rizzo. He led them only as far as a large, grassy, and quite deserted area a few hundred paces off.

"Monsieur Verne." Rizzo shook his hand heartily. "Thank you so much for taking care of our Bren."

Jules nodded. "That's what friends are for."

"Indeed. Speaking of which..." He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of bank-notes which he passed to Jules. As Jules stared, rendered speechless by the amount, Rizzo said, "Consider it interest on your loan. And a hearty thanks for bringing Bren safely home."

"Take it, Jules." Blayne said softly. "You deserve it."

Jules hesitantly put the money away. "Love the tan, Riz." Blayne said. "I see Alexandria agreed with you."

He smiled and nodded. "It did, although I must admit that arriving home to find that telegram gave me quite a start."

"Then you've only just gotten back?"

He nodded. "Didn't even have time to change." he noted wryly, holding out his arms to display his robe. "Just ditched the turban and came running."

"Thank you for that." Blayne smiled at him. 

"Not a problem. I'm sorry about Johansen."

"We'll discuss that later on, Riz. In detail."

Rizzo stared curiously at her. "I see. Um, Verne, my man, why don't you go visit your friends the Foggs. Agent Blayne has a lot to report on, and I'm afraid you'd be bored by the details."

Jules nodded, recognizing this tactic for what it was. He was not offended by it, but actually a bit gratified that Agent Rizzo held him in high enough esteem not to simply tell him to get lost. "I'll see you both around."

"Will you be in London for a while?" Rizzo asked. "The three of us could go out to dinner or something."

"That sounds like fun." Jules smiled and waved. He walked a few paces off, then turned to watch Rizzo and Blayne go. He was surprised to see Rizzo hugging Blayne and rocking her back and forth. He quickly left, not wishing to seem to be spying, or to embarrass either with his presence.

As soon as Jules had started off, Blayne's easy facade had begun to crumble. Rizzo, seeing this, had taken her into his arms and rocked her until she composed herself.

"Rock on, baby..." he whispered over an over in her ear until she began to calm. It was amazing how such a simple phrase could produce such an effect simply because it was an anachronism. Rizzo was beginning to see what Blayne meant when she talked about how profoundly connected most Agents were to their own time. Personally, he had never had that problem. The sixties were fun to visit, but actually living there… "Okay, you think you can tell me how it went down now?"

Blayne nodded and pulled away from him. "Let's walk." As soon as they began walking, they switched almost unconsciously from English to Egyptian to ensure privacy. "It was bad, Rizzo."

"Obviously. Tell me about it."

"I lied through my teeth when I telegrammed in the report."

He stopped in his tracks. "You mean the two of you didn't walk into an ambush?"

"Oh, I walked into an ambush a'ight. Johansen on the other hand..."

"What?" Rizzo stared uncomprehendingly at her. "Bren?"

"If I hadn't turned around to say something to him when I did, this," she traced her finger over the wound on her temple, "would have been an exit-wound the size of Delaware, right here." She tapped her forehead for emphasis. "You mean? Johansen..."

"He turned on me, Riz. When he hit me, I fell. He bent over to be sure I was dead and I put one in his throat. Suddenly bullets are flying from everywhere at once."

"Had you been arguing?" Rizzo asked, still shocked.

"Riz! This is Stefan Johansen we're talking about here! Even if we had been arguing..."

Rizzo nodded apologetically. "I'm sorry, Bren. I'm just trying to make sense out of all of this."

She nodded. "So am I. As frelling impossible as it is to believe, this had to have been premeditated. He had backup."

"League?"

"I don't honestly know, Riz. When the bullets started flying, I had no choice but to run."

"What kind of gun did he use?" Rizzo asked, regaining some of his composure.

"A Glock .38." 

"Oh, dear Lord..." Rizzo shivered. "That's not even..."

"I know. Johansen shooting a fellow Agent with a contraband weapon." She shook her head. "Nothing about any of this makes sense, Riz. If I hadn't been there, I would not have believed it."

Rizzo sighed. "Maybe since you were, you can believe this. And when you do, would you mind convincing me of it as well?"

Blayne stared. "What is it, Riz?"

"Johansen is not our first Agent to turn like this."

"A word of warning would have been nice."

"You're the first surviving witness, Bren. We couldn't be sure."

"And now we can be?"

He nodded. "The evidence was confusing. Good Agents, old-timers with distinguished service records, snapping and shooting partners or civilians."

Blayne sighed. "League?"

Rizzo shrugged. By now they were in the warehouse district, under which a large base operated in secret. "Hard to say. We've got the computers running the numbers as we speak. Hell, maybe they're done."

Blayne sighed. "I don't get it, Riz. Good Agents don't just go postal like this out of the blue."

"They do now."

"Until we can establish a pattern, we're going to have to be hyper-vigilant. No one can afford to trust anyone. Not even me." She eyed him shaprly. "And that is an order."

"Understood. Agents will start working in groups of 3 or more until we have some answers."

"Very good. Also: time to review established command-succession protocols. We both left the country on dangerous missions at the same time and trusted things to take care of themselves. That's no longer adequate, Rizzo."

He nodded. "We'll have to establish a hierarchy of some sort in case ranking Agents start snapping."

She nodded. "And I think we should establish some kind of power-sharing system so that no one person can make any kind of important decision."

"Checks and balances. It's what made this country great..."

Blayne shook her head. "It's what made America great, Rizzo. What made England great was the blood and labor of a thousand conquered nations."

"Can we not get ideological right now, Bren?" Rizzo sighed.

"Sorry." Blayne winced. "I'm under a lot of stress. I think I'll go ask Doctor Ross for a Quaalude before I do anything else."

Rizzo nodded. "I'll start drawing up the orders and call a general meeting."

"Make it for right away. We'll record it for anyone who can't be present."

Rizzo nodded. They walked into the warehouse and both gave the password as they crossed to the hidden stair-case. "Welcome back, you two!" one of the hidden guards called as they passed.

*****

Jules took a short stroll before starting for Phileas's house on Saville row. It had been almost lunchtime when they arrived, and Jules had not wanted to intrude on their meal, especially since he had eaten on the train. He had not been able to convince Blayne to eat, which worried him, but he was confident that Rizzo would be able to cajole her into taking care of herself where he had failed.

As always, the large door was pulled open by Passepartout before the echo of his first knock had died away. Passepartout looked out eagerly and seemed a bit disappointed when he saw it was Jules. "Is this a bad time?" Jules asked with a slight frown.

"Ah... Is, actually." Passepartout admitted, letting Jules in. "Was hoping you would be Miss Rebecca."

"Rebecca?" Jules asked, frowning. "Why?"

"Ah, she is not yet coming home from last mission. Master Fogg is being in fine state."

Jules frowned as he tried to process this. Rebecca had not returned from her last mission? He had not even been aware that she was adequately recovered from her last mission to embark upon another one. Phileas Fogg in a state over her absence? That at least made sense.

"Tell me what happened." Jules suggested. He winced at a loud crashing sound, accompanied by a bellow, from the vicinity of the sitting-room. He turned to go and make sure that all was well, but Passepartout grabbed his arm.

With a little shake of his head, he explained, "Master Fogg is throwing much things. Is making him feeling better, I think." Having convinced Jules of the folly of entering the sitting-room, he launched into an explanation of all that had transpired in Jules's absence. "Miss Rebecca is just getting better enough to be doing her exercises again and practicing her fighting when Sir Jonathan is coming and saying that he is needing her 'peculiar skills'."

Jules frowned uncomprehendingly. "Particular skills, you mean?"

Passepartout nodded quickly in that little way he had. "He is saying that there is intelligence to be had and that he is needing it. He ask Miss Rebecca, 'is you well enough to be going on simple mission?' Miss Rebecca is always saying yes to this question, well or not."

Jules nodded, beginning to feel worried. "I can't believe Chatsworth would send her on a mission before she was fully recovered."

"Master Fogg is believing it, though, and is saying that Miss Rebecca no go anywhere until after she is going to doctor first."

"That makes sense." Jules nodded. "So the doctor cleared her?"

"Yes, Master Jules. Master Fogg's own personal doctor is saying that she is finally well enough to be working again. Miss Rebecca is very happy about this and is assuring Master Fogg that the mission is being 'cat-walk'."

"Cake-walk, Passepartout."

"Is being cake-walk." Passepartout repeated, nodded. "So Master Fogg tell her that she no go alone. He be taking her in Aurora and picking her up when done. Well, time comes for her to be being done, and she no come back to meeting place."

"Oh, God..." Jules breathed. "Anything could have happened. Did you wait for her?"

"We is waiting for three days and a half, Master Jules, when Prussian army come and... make us leave!"

"Oh, God..." Jules repeated.

"Master Fogg go to Sir Jonathan right away. He come out of meeting very angry. Say Sir Jonathan not knowing anything either about Miss Rebecca."

Jules sighed and found a chair before his strength failed him. "How long ago was this, Passepartout?"

"Is two days since we is leaving Prussia."

Jules nodded. "We have to go back."

"But we is knowing nothing. And Master Fogg is in fine temper. Passepartout is trying for two days to calm Master Fogg, but Master Fogg is only throwing expensive vase at Passepartout and telling him to leave in most unkind language."

Jules sighed and rubbed his mouth with his hands. "Well, we'll just have to find a way to calm him."

"But how. Passepartout no can calm Master Fogg. Who is to, then?"

"I don't know, Passepartout." He closed his eyes and considered. "You know, Passepartout, it's odd."

"What is being odd, Master Jules?" He frowned. "Passepartout is thinking that Master Fogg's distress is being quite natural."

Jules shook his head. "Not that. I came over with Blayne. She just lost an Agent, too. In Paris. You don't think the two cases could be related?"

Passepartout frowned. "Paris is not being Prussia, Master Jules, and Miss Brenna's Agents are not same as Secret Service Agents..." He looked up quickly, a thought occurring to him. "This is being it!"

Jules looked up, confused. "What?"

"Passepartout is no calming Master Fogg, but Miss Brenna is being his friend for many more years. She may be calming him where Passepartout is failing."

"She was in a bit of a state herself when I left her." Jules noted softly. "I'm not sure she could help."

Passepartout dismissed this with a wave of the hand. "Miss Brenna is being quite good at putting aside own problems when friends is being troubled by theirs. She help Master Fogg." He nodded with assurance, then frowned sadly. "But I is no knowing where to be finding Miss Brenna. Always before, she is finding us..."

"You don't know where she lives?" Jules frowned. "Does Fogg know? Or Rebecca?"

He shook his head. "No one is knowing. She is keeping secret close to chest like hand in poker."

Jules frowned. "Then that's no use..." Leaning back, he sighed and closed his eyes. An image, a memory, flashed into his mind, with such clarity that it was almost like looking at a painting which slowly began to move. Last time he was in London, shortly before Rebecca had been shot, he had been wandering through the warehouse district for no other reason that this had been where his feet had taken him. He had been somewhat surprised to see Blayne quietly stealing away from a large and abandoned-looking warehouse. When he had greeted her, she had quickly invited him to lunch and mentioned a museum exhibit, effectively distracting his attention from the question of what she had been doing in the warehouse in the first place.

"That's it!" Jules sat bolt upright.

"What is what, Master Jules?" Passepartout asked cautiously.

"I think I know where to find Blayne!" Jules got to his feet. "Do you think you can hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

Passepartout nodded. "You should be hurrying, though."

Jules nodded and started for the door. There was another thud, and, this time, Phileas's shouting was clearly audible. "Oh, d... dear God, w... why h... her? Why my Re.. becca!" His voice abruptly deteriorated into a series of ragged sobs.

Jules winced, feeling a small measure of his friend's pain. Passepartout made a shooing gesture and went to comfort his Master. Jules fled from the house, as much to escape the heart-rending sound of Phileas's sobbing as to hasten his arrival at the warehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2-Connections

Jules half-ran through the streets, and reached the warehouse district in near-record time. Panting, he entered the large warehouse, and instantly thought that he must have been mistaken. This warehouse did not appear deserted. It was deserted. Had to be...

Jules was disabused of this notion the instant he began poking around. A large man and a very small woman suddenly barred his path. Both stared at him.

"What are you doing here?" the woman demanded, folding her arms over her small chest.

Jules noted that English was clearly not her first language. From the look of her, he was guessing that she was a Spaniard.

"Is there something we could help you with?" the large man added in a slightly less belligerent tone.

"I'm sorry..." Jules gaped at the two. His writer's mind was having fun with the stark contrasts between the two. Another part of his mind was urging him to run before he got beaten to a bloody pulp. "I'm, um... I'm looking for Agent Blayne. We're friends..."

The woman eyed him dubiously. "You say you know our Andrew?" she asked, frowning.

"Um, no." Jules shook his head. Just his luck it would have been, too, to stumble into the wrong abandoned warehouse housing a secret Agent. "Um, Agent Blayne is a woman. Brenna."

"How do you know her?" the woman demanded.

"We met several months ago. She..." Not wanting to get into that, he added, "We're mutual friends of Rebecca and Phileas Fogg."

The big man nodded. "He must be Verne. Go ahead and bring him down, Ash."

She nodded and caught Jules by the arm. "You come with me now. If you try to run, or to go somewhere I haven't told you to, I'm going to have to shoot you."

Jules sighed, but nodded. He was vaguely reminded of his first meeting with Blayne. He wondered if the real person beneath this exterior was half as interesting as the one beneath Blayne's. "I'm Jules."

"Ash." She silent led him across the warehouse and down a well-concealed staircase. They walked through several twisting passages, indicating to Jules that he was in quite a large complex. This supposition was further confirmed when she led him into a large sitting room easily the size of the warehouse above. "You will wait here. If you try to leave, you will be shot. Do you understand?"

Jules nodded mutely. He took a seat and waited. After several minutes alone, he rose and began curiously examining the contents of the room. A large shelf held more books than most home-libraries. Two fireplaces, one on either side of the room, gave it a cozy feel. An open liquor-cabinet invited visitors to help themselves. In spite of all of these home-like touches, there was little to distinguish the room. There were no personal affects, none of those things that gave a room a lived-in feel. He sighed and sat down again. Just as he was beginning to wonder if they had forgotten about him, the far door swung open. Rizzo, this time dressed in clothes more appropriate to London, entered. He crossed the room and grasped Jules's hand. "So you found us, Monsieur Verne?" he asked, smiling easily. "Hope our guards didn't give you too much of a hard-time?"

He shook his head, smiling. Something in Rizzo's casual nature invited others to be easy as well. "No, they were quite civil." he assured Rizzo. "They didn't even shoot me!"

Rizzo laughed loudly at this. He grabbed an armchair and pulled it next to Jules's own. "Ash probably wanted to. Lucky for you Boris was on hand. So, what can we do for you?"

Jules started slightly. "Um, actually I was hoping to talk to Blayne..." He hesitated. "You see, Fogg..."

Rizzo considered this. "Which Fogg?"

"Um, both, actually. You see, Rebecca Fogg is missing, and, as a consequence, Phileas Fogg is in quite a state. Passepartout thought that Blayne might be able to calm him." 

Rizzo considered this for a few moments. "Yeah... Well, I'll tell you what... You hang tight here, and I'll go grab Blayne for you."

"Okay..." Jules sighed as Rizzo quickly left. All this waiting was beginning to grate on his nerves. He was certain that Fogg would not have put up with it for one moment, which only made him feel that much more helpless and ineffective.

Blayne did not keep Jules waiting for nearly as long as Rizzo initially had. She rushed into the room moments after Rizzo had left it the first time, looking agitated. Rizzo followed close on her heels.

"Blayne." Jules rose quickly, determined not to lose his opportunity. "I need your help."

She nodded and crossed the room to him. She took his hands. "Rizzo said so. Something about Fogg, was it?"

He nodded. "When I arrived at his home, Passepartout told me that he was in a terrible state. I could hear him throwing things and shouting. Passepartout said that Rebecca had gone missing on a mission."

"Rebecca on a mission?" Blayne shook her head incredulously. "So soon after being shot? Chatsworth must be mad..." She trailed off, staring at Jules. "I'm sorry, Jules. Did you say missing?"

Jules nodded. "Behind Prussian lines."

Blayne went pale and clutched a nearby chair for support. "Oh, sweet mother..."

Rizzo walked over to her and gently helped her into the chair. He leaned over her as if to check her pulse. "What is it?" he whispered.

"That never happened!" Blayne breathed, pushing him away. She rose swiftly and faced Jules. "Are you sure?"

Jules nodded. "Passepartout was sure. And I could hear Fogg."

She nodded weakly. "Yes, well..." 

"Bren." Rizzo took her shoulders. "We'll find her. Promise."

Blayne nodded. "I should go see Fogg. He must be distraught."

Rizzo nodded. "You do that. I'll see what I can find out about Rebecca."

"Thank you." Blayne squeezed his hands, and then turned to Jules. "We'll do everything we can for her, Jules."

"Thanks, Blayne. But Fogg..."

She nodded. "I'll do what I can for him. It may not be much, though. He's not always receptive to help."

"Make him receptive." Rizzo suggested as she turned to leave. She felt his hand brush her back pocket.

She nodded. "I'll do what I can." she repeated.

Despite the fact that Blayne still felt a bit dizzy, the trip back to Saville road was a short one. Irritated by the amount of time the trip was taking on foot, Blayne hailed a carriage and promised the driver a substantial reward for a quick arrival. The cabby collected his reward, and Blayne and Jules swept back into the house.

"Ah, is Master Jules with Miss Brenna!" Passepartout sighed with relief as the two swept into the house. "Is good that you is come, Miss Brenna..."

She nodded and squeezed his hands. "I'll go talk to him."

"You is being careful, Miss Brenna. One moment Master cry quietly and next he like caged animal, shouting and ruining perfectly good furnishings."

She nodded. "Thanks. I'll watch myself. Jules, wait here."

"But--" Jules protested as she closed herself into the sitting room.

Blayne found Phileas huddled in one corner of the wrecked room, silently weeping. She crossed the room and knelt before her friend. "Fogg?" she asked gently. "Phileas?"

He stared blankly at her, momentarily struck by her resemblance to Rebecca. "B... Blayne? Is that you?"

She nodded and took his hands. "You don't look so good, friend."

"Did... you hear? Re... becca..."

She nodded. "I heard. But not the whole story. If you tell me, I might be able to help you find her."

He nodded. "Pl... please..."

She smiled tenderly and brushed a tear from the tip of his nose. "Tell me what happened, Phileas." She sighed. "Remember to breathe, and focus on the way you want the words to sound. Just like they taught you."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Ch... Chatsworth s... swore it would be an... easy mission." Phileas took a deep breath before he continued on. "He said he only... asked be... because he was short on men. Two days at the outside, he said."

Blayne nodded and squeezed his knees. "You're doing fine, Phileas. Go on."

"Ch... Chatsworth sug... suggested that I go along to save Re... becca the strain of a long trip."

Blayne nodded. His voice broke every time he mentioned Rebecca or Chatsworth. She shivered to think of the strength of emotion that it must take to make a man like Phileas stammer. She saw the matter clearly. The man was heartbroken. He had already given her up for dead, and he had begun to blame himself. "And then?"

"S... she never... never came... b... back!" This last sentence was more of a howl then anything. Phileas threw himself into the arms of the one person around whom he felt comfortable truly expressing his most powerful emotions.

"Shh..." Blayne held him close for several minutes. "Breathe, Phileas. Tell me what Chatsworth said."

"R... ready to declare her d... d... d... ead!" Phileas sobbed.

Blayne sighed. "Phileas, Phileas, look at me. Look at me!" She pulled back far enough to stare him in the face. "Listen!"

He nodded weakly, recovering himself somewhat.

"You once told me that you and Rebecca share a bond, or rather, that you have an attachment to her. Still true?"

He nodded and tugged at his lapels. "Y... yes."

"Then you would know if she was dead?"

He nodded. The tears returned.

"Can you still feel her?"

"Yes..." Phileas sighed, "but she is so weak!" 

"But you still feel her? She's not dead?" She knew that using the word was risky even before she said it, but she had to force him to refute her.

"Not d... dead!" Phileas managed. "Alive. Still alive. I still feel her."

Blayne sighed in relief. It had worked. "Then we will find her. I already have my people looking into it." She started to rise.

Phileas grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip, forcing her back to the floor. In a perfectly clear and unbroken voice, he hissed, "There is not much time!"

Startled, Blayne struggled to free herself from the bone-crushing grip. "Let go." she ordered. "I need to leave now."

"You can't leave..." Phileas protested, his voice once again shaky. "You need to find her."

"I need to talk to Sir Jonathan first. I must have the details of her assignment before we can do anything."

"Please, don't leave me alone!" His stammer was no longer evident, but his voice held a desperate and somewhat befuddled edge.

Blayne finally managed to free her wrist. Tenderly, she covered his face with her hands. "You won't be alone. Jules and Jean are both here to look after you, Phileas. But I must look to Rebecca now..."

"Please hurry!" Phileas gasped. He repeated, "There is not much time!"

Blayne felt herself go cold. Phileas's tone of voice when he spoke those words was enough to chill her to the bone. She retreated from the room, nearly knocking over Passepartout who had been listening at the door. "See to your Master, Jean. Jules, help him. Neither of you leave him alone, not even for a second!" As Jules started towards the sitting room, Blayne caught Passepartout arm. "I want you to take careful note of everything he says, Jean. Report it back to me when I return."

He nodded shakily. "Miss Brenna, you is being cold like ice. Is you seeing ghost?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly, Jean. I'll be back as quickly as I can. See to your Master now."

He nodded and hastily joined Phileas and Jules in the sitting room. Jules had managed to get Phileas off of the floor and into a chair. "Is Master wishing a cup of tea, now?" Passepartout suggested gently.

He nodded weakly. "Please. Thank you." He looked around the room with a muttered "Oh dear." He turned to Passepartout. "I'm afraid I've been rather... cross with you just recently, Passepartout. You must forgive me."

"There is not being a thing to forgive, Master." Passepartout assured him as he hurried off to get the tea.

Phileas sighed and stared after him. He noticed Jules. "Ah, Verne. When did you get here?" he asked, frowning uncertainly.

"A few hours ago, Fogg." Jules sighed. He hated to see his normally strong and collected friend in this state. Could it really be that all that strength came from Rebecca? Jules sighed. "Fogg, do you want to talk about it?"

He sighed. "What could there possibly be to talk about, Verne? I left Rebecca behind enemy lines to die. Now, what is there to talk about in that?"

"You did not leave her to die, Fogg!" Jules snapped. "You waited for three days! You left because the Prussian army forced you to leave. They would have killed you and Passepartout, and who would there be to save Rebecca then?"

Phileas stared at him. "You did the right thing, Fogg. I believe that. You have to believe that."

"And if I can't?" Phileas asked. He gratefully accepted the cup of tea that Passepartout handed him, noting on the first sip that it contained a healthy shot of brandy.

"If you can't..." Jules sighed. "I don't know, Fogg. I'm really not good at this kind of thing. Thanks, Passepartout." Jules smiled at him as he accepted his own cup of tea.

"I is thinking Master Jules is being correct, Master." Passepartout contributed. "No worries, Master. Miss Brenna will make all things right."

Phileas sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "She will, won't she?" He took a deep breath through his nose and his mouth. "I do believe that you may be on to something, Passepartout." He placed his tea down and rose. Walking over to a cabinet, he found an envelope, which he carried back to his chair without opening it. He sat down and silently opened the envelope. He pulled out a slip of white paper and examined it thoughtfully. Jules craned his neck to see what was on the paper. He was surprised to see a lock of red hair that could only belong to Rebecca attached to the blank slip. He recalled that such a lock had once come attached to a ransom note. Fogg must have discarded the note but saved the hair. He ran his index finger thoughtfully over the lock.

"Yes, Passepartout, I do believe you may be right..."

*****

Sir Jonathan sat at his desk, shuffling through a pile of reports, obviously looking for something. He completely failed to notice when Blayne, still dressed in Jules's clothes, let herself in through an open window.

"Ah, Sir Jonathan. So good to find you in."

Sir Jonathan jumped and the papers in his hands went flying. "Oh, Agent Blayne..." He sighed as he took her in. "Don't you ever knock."

"Just trying to help you pinpoint problems in your security." She smiled brightly. "Although, it's odd you should ask. Rebecca Fogg frequently asked me the same thing."

"Oh, so you're here about Agent Fogg, are you?"

"What else?" Without being asked, Blayne pulled up a chair and sat in front of Sir Jonathan's desk. "We need to talk, Sir Jonathan..." She sighed. "Phileas says that you are ready to declare her dead. Is this a correct assessment? Now, admittedly, he was rather upset and might have been exaggerating, but if you are, in fact, ready to declare her dead, without even an investigation into her disappearance, I can only say that this is an incredibly cavalier way to treat one of your finest agents."

Sir Jonathan shifted uneasily. It was not only that no one else, save perhaps the Queen herself, would have dared to speak to him in this manner. Blayne had hit close to home on a matter that obviously pained him greatly. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Miss Blayne."

"That's Agent Blayne, Sir Jonathan. Don't ever forget that." She rose and leaned across his desk. "Now. Just this once, we are going to abandon all of the pretense that usually accompanies our interactions. Understand?"

He eyed her cautiously for a moment, half-expecting her to produce another syringe. When none seemed forthcoming, he nodded acceptance. "Proceed."

"Why have you left Rebecca to die behind enemy lines?"

"I had no other choice!" he snapped, rising. He circled the desk and stood face to face with her, or, more accurately, face to chest. "You think I don't care about Miss Fogg? You think I don't know that she's probably the best agent in Her Majesty's Secret Service? If there were any way for me to recover her, I would, in a heartbeat!"

Blayne eyed him thoughtfully. He actually meant it. "Then I'm assuming that your reasons are diplomatic?"

"They are. Since our most recent treaty with the Prussians, our presence there would be considered a grave breach. War could result. Even for Miss Fogg, I can not risk war..."

She nodded. "This must be a very difficult position for you, Sir Jonathan. Fortunately, my organization is free from those sorts of concerns."

Sir Jonathan stared mutely at her.

"And, since you are powerless to act, I will." Blayne eyed him defiantly.

Sir Jonathan sighed with relief. He cleared his throat. "Of course, I did not quite catch your last sentence, Agent Blayne."

"Of course not." Blayne smiled at him. "I'll be going now. Not to do anything specific, mind you..." She turned to the window.

"Of course not. You may want to use the door this time."

"Of course." She turned towards the door.

"Good luck to you." he called after her. "In whatever you may have planned for the next few days."

"You know, since this meeting never happened, I really think I had better take the window."

Sir Jonathan nodded. "As you wish." As she climbed onto the window-frame, he caught her shoulder. "Bring her safely home, Agent."

"I will do my best." Blayne assured him with what, coming from her, passed for a sympathetic smile. She vanished out the window.

*****

When Blayne returned, Rizzo was stationed behind a computer, his eyes riveted on the screen. "How'd it go?"

"Well, I visited Phileas, who said that Sir Jonathan was ready to declare Rebecca dead."

"That bastard!"

Blayne ignored this. "So then I went to visit Sir Jonathan. From the look on his face when I mentioned her name, I'd lay fifty-to-one odds that not only does he know she's alive, but that he's already been confronted by the Prussians with her presence."

Rizzo looked up from the computer screen. "So you're telling me that he's willing to offer her up like a sacrificial lamb in order to save his own ass?"

"There's a little more at stake than that. War with Prussia for one..."

"Not a good thing." Rizzo said. He stood up and grabbed a handful of paper out of the printer tray. "I did some digging. You were right. Historically, Rebecca Fogg never did go missing behind Prussian lines."

"Which means that there's some kind of contamination afoot?" Blayne sighed. "Any idea on the source yet?"

He shook his head. "Her only connection to the Order is through us-"

"Watch what you call us!" Blayne hissed. "My gods, Riz..." She looked around as though afraid they had been over-heard. 

"Sorry. I forgot."

"Get on with it."

"Well, her only connection to possible sources of contamination, as far as the computers can tell, is through us, but that doesn't compute since we had nothing to do with this mission in any way shape or form."

"Then we're looking at possible global contamination?"

He hesitated before nodding. "Someone's done something to seriously alter the flow."

Blayne rubbed her forehead above her right eye where a very nasty ache was starting. "Okay. Report it. Have Doctor Ross run the numbers. See what countermeasures are indicated."

"Well, for a start, retrieving Rebecca Fogg." Rizzo said. "I don't like having her out of the picture right now."

"Why? What's now?"

"The computer says that this may be a critical period for her. It says that her future is very much dependent on the next few weeks."

"The shooting was foreseen, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out where the contamination came in."

"Let Doctor Ross worry about that." Rizzo suggested. "You worry about making things right with this variable."

"It's not a variable!" she shouted. "It is a human-being's life on the line!"

"I'm sorry. Bad choice of words." Rizzo smiled apologetically, secretly glad that he had not called Rebecca a 'factor' in addition to calling the situation a 'variable'. She probably would have taken his head off. And not been entirely unjustified. "We're going to make things right, Bren. That is a promise."

"Riz?" She hesitated at the door. 

"Hey, what's up?" He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Talk to me..."

"What if we've managed to screw things up permanent this time?"

"Then I say we wage an all-out war against the League of Darkness instead of maintaining this status-quo bullshit, and save a lot of innocent lives."

"You want to watch who you say things like that to, Riz." Blayne suggested quietly. "After you've had Ross run those numbers, pack. I want you watching my back in Prussia."

"What happened to no one trusting anyone else? Including you. And that's an order." Rizzo stared at her with a cock-eyed grin.

"What was your favorite thing about Egypt?" she asked suddenly.

"The cheap drugs."

"Yeah, I rather suspected as much." Blayne gave him one last smile and turned to leave. Instead of leaving immediately, she headed down to the infirmary. The on-call doctor looked up at her entrance. "I've got a wicked head-ache." she announced, opening up the medicine cabinet. "You know where the willow is." the doctor said without looking up from his magazine.

She grabbed a small brown bottle of the patent medicine that was so popular in this time and tucked it into her belt. "Thanks, doc." she said casually as she left.

Blayne entered the first empty sitting room she could find and pulled a water glass out of the liquor cabinet. She filled it almost to the brim with the patent medicine, then sat down. She knew better than trying a dose like that standing up. She plugged her nose to help diminish the bitter taste and swallowed it in two gulps. Instantly, and quite predictably, she became dizzy. She lay her head on the table and grasped the edges with her hands until the dizziness passed. Blessedly, it took the headache with it. She poured the rest of the contents of the bottle into a small flask and tucked it under her shirt before returning to Saville row.

*****

Jules and Passepartout were sitting in an uncomfortable silence, staring at Phileas. Jules has tried to engage him in conversation about twenty minutes ago, but he had given Jules a dirty look and continued sitting in silence. Suddenly, Passepartout looked up. He jumped to his feet and started for the sitting-room door.

"Where are you going?" Jules asked. "Blayne said..."

"But she is being here now!" Passepartout protested. "I go and see her in."

Jules nodded. "Fine. Just come back soon. If he gets violent again, I am not going to be able to control him."

Passepartout nodded understandingly, but added, "I is thinking he is over worst of that now." Having thus, he hoped, reassured Jules, he went to meet Blayne in the front hall. "Miss Brenna."

"None of that, 'Miss Brenna' when we're alone, Jean. Please…" She sighed and rested one hand against the wall.

"Is you... not well, Bren?" Passepartout asked, concerned.

She sighed again and shook her head. "I've just got a bit of a headache. It's passing." She smiled at him. "How are you, Jean? We so seldom get an opportunity to talk alone any more."

"Is true, and I is missing our talks, but now is not being best time, I think."

"Don't be silly, Jean. Rizzo won't be ready to leave until evening."

"Ah, is Agent Rizzo to be coming, then?" Passepartout grimaced.

She nodded. "I know Fogg doesn't much care for him, but I need reliable backup, and right now, Fogg is less than reliable. You do know that, Jean?"

He nodded weakly. "Agent Rizzo is being..." he searched for a word and finally seized on one that Blayne was fond of using as a compliment, "solid."

She nodded and smiled again. "How long has it been, Jean?"

"Is being eleven years now since we meet first and you is saving Jean's life."

She smiled. "You know, I've been giving you a lot of thought lately."

"Is a good thing?" he asked hesitantly.

"When you were young, I considered you too impetuous to do us any good as an organization. Your habit of bouncing from one job to another... it spoke to me of irresponsibility. But now..."

"Now, Bren?"

"Now you are not irresponsible, Jean. You must tire of playing the fool for Fogg's benefit."

"Is good job. I is enjoying it very much."

"Jean, I am offering to take you into the fold." Blayne took his hands in her own. "You could be a tremendous asset to us. I've discussed this with Rizzo, and he concurs." 

"I is more than happy being only valet to my Master, Phileas Fogg, Bren. Once, I would be saying yes in heartbeat. Now I is not wanting these things you is offering so much." He smiled sadly. "I is happy with my Master, and he would not be knowing what to do without me. I take care of my Master and care for him, and he care for me."

She sighed. "I'm an American, Jean, from a time when what you do for Fogg would be considered one step removed from slavery."

"But you, and Jean, is living in time when is considered very good job. I is happy, Bren." Passepartout smiled that wide, innocent smile of his, "Plus Master Fogg is giving me considerable altitude in my experiments."

"Latitude." Blayne muttered. "If you're sure, Jean."

"I is sure, and I is sorry. But I help how I can, Bren. I tell you things you need to be knowing. Is enough?"

"More than, Jean. I thank you." She kissed his forehead. "How's Fogg?"

"Master Fogg is not well. He is not sleeping for.. four days."

"Holy mother..." Blayne reached into a back pocket and pulled out a tiny glass vial. She palmed it and hurried in to Fogg.


	3. Chapter 3

****

Chapter 3-Third-Act Reunion

Blayne let herself silently into the sitting room. "Phileas?" she asked quietly.

Jules looked up, a bit startled. "Oh, hi, Blayne."

"Hello, again, Jules." She smiled gently at him. Her entire manner seemed a radical departure from what was typical of her. In no way that Jules could adequately define, she was… changed.

Passepartout hurried in behind her. He walked directly over to Phileas. "Master?"

Phileas stared up at him resentfully. "What do you want?"

"I is thinking it is time for my Master to be sleeping now."

"No, no..." Phileas shook his head violently. "I do not want to sleep. Not until we have rescued my Rebecca..."

"Of course not, Fogg. We understand." Blayne assured him.

Blayne picked up a glass and unstopped a decanter of brandy. Seeming to change her mind, she replaced the decanter and the glass on the table. With a casual glance in Phileas's direction, she emptied the glass vial in her hand into the glass. Jules stared at her in surprise, and opened his mouth. She caught his eye and gave a quick shake of the head. Jules closed his mouth quickly. Passepartout wore an expression of innocence that surely meant that he knew exactly what Blayne was up to.

"Is Master wanting for some brandy?" Passepartout asked gently.

"Yes, please."

Blayne filled the glass and carried it over to Phileas. "Bottoms up, Fogg." She raised the glass in a mock-toast before handing it to him.

He took the glass and took a small sip. "You will help me, Blayne?"

She nodded. "Of course I will. Agent Rizzo and myself are already making plans."

"Him?" Phileas snorted, taking another sip of the brandy. "Is that really necessary?"

"He is a good Agent, Fogg, no matter how you may feel for him personally. Drink up."

Fogg half-drained the glass, and only Blayne's quick hand kept it from falling to the floor as Phileas went limp.

"I is telling Master that he be needing sleep now." Passepartout said firmly. "And now you is seeing that I is right. Master has fallen to sleep in his chair, he is so tired." He smiled innocently.

"Is that what happened?" Jules asked, grinning at Blayne and Passepartout.

"Obviously." Blayne smiled back at Jules for a moment before placing the glass on a nearby table. "What else? Why don't you two gentlemen carry him up to bed?" Blayne suggested. "When you return, we have a lot to discuss." Blayne sat down to wait for the return of the two men. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back. 

"You aren't asleep, too, are you?" Jules asked quietly when they had returned from putting Phileas to bed.

Not moving, Blayne said. "No. Just thinking. Jean, what, if anything, can you tell me about Rebecca's mission that I don't already know?" 

"Is not much more to be telling. Is simple finding of facts."

"But why Rebecca?"

"Sir Jonathan is saying is short on men."

Blayne opened her eyes and sat forward in the chair, her arms resting lightly on her knees. "Let's all have a drink and discuss matters."

Passepartout quickly filled three glasses. Wine for himself and Jules and scotch for Blayne. "You is thinking that this is wrong?" he asked, sitting down.

She nodded and stood up. "I can think of no godly reason why a man with Sir Jonathan's resources should be so short on men that he would have to send someone in Rebecca's condition across enemy lines." Putting her glass down, she began pacing. "No, scratch that, I can think of one." She fell silent, staring absently into the fire.

"What?" Jules demanded, staring at her. "Talk to us, Blayne."

"It's this. My organization has been losing a lot of men lately."

"In ambushes like the one you and your partner walked into?" Jules asked.

"Yes, but the thing is..." She hesitated. "Jules, I lied about how Johansen died. I shot him in self-defense after he had already shot me."

"I don't understand." Jules said hesitantly.

"Neither do I. He was a good Agent. Solid. This is not the kind of thing he would ever have done. And yet he did... And this is not the first time."

"You is meaning that others of your people is going pop and shooting at you?" Passepartout stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Not just me. All throughout the organization. It's senseless. Random."

"You think that maybe Sir Jonathan has been having a similar problem?" Jules asked.

She nodded. "The thought had crossed my mind. Which only explains why he sent Rebecca, not what happened to her."

"Even best Agents is sometimes making mistakes." Passepartout said softly. "Miss Rebecca is being one of best, but maybe she was not well enough to go..."

"You think a straight foul-up might have gotten her caught?" Blayne asked. "It's not unreasonable."

"Look, how are we going to get her back?" Jules asked. "We don't even know if she's still alive, or where she's being held."

"We do know she's still alive." Blayne corrected him.

"You do?" Jules shook his head. "How?"

"Forget about it." Blayne advised. "I've got my people engaged in an intensive search for Rebecca as we speak."

"What about your problems?" Jules asked, frowning. "Surely you wouldn't draw resources from that investigation even for Rebecca's sake."

"Of course not. We've got man-power enough to go around, Jules. Don't worry."

Passepartout had sat silently through this exchange. Finally, he asked, "You is having people enough in Prussia to help us?"

"I have people everywhere they are needed a week before they know they will be." Blayne informed him flatly.

"I is seeing..." Passepartout nodded.

Jules scratched his head. "Why does the American Secret Service have so many Agents abroad?" he asked.

"Ah, Master Jules. Miss Brenna no is working for Americans. She work for... multi-national organization." He beamed at having produced the words properly.

"Is that true?" Jules asked.

"It is. We employ Agents from all over the world. We're headquartered in Alexandria." She looked at Passepartout. "Jean, there are times when you talk far too much." she noted dryly.

Looking hurt, Passepartout opened his mouth to reply when Jack Rizzo came bursting into the sitting room. "We have a hit on Rebecca Fogg!" he announced happily.

"A hit?" Jules asked, frowning. 

"They've found her." Blayne supplied for him. "Can I get you a drink, Rizzo?"

"Please." He nodded and sat down. "She's being held in a Prussian prison on charges of spying. Bren, you were right."

She handed him a glass of wine. "About what?"

"That creep Chatsworth was confronted by the Prussian ambassador four days ago. He said none of his Agents had any business in Prussia and that as far as he knew Rebecca Fogg was still in the country recovering from an injury incurred on her last assignment..."

"I could strangle him ..." Blayne sighed.

"Not that it isn't exactly the kind of thing he would do." Rizzo noted. "I mean, certainly Rebecca would never tell them who she was. She'd die first."

"And he'd let her." Blayne sighed.

"Which means that we have to get to Prussia yesterday." At Blayne's sharp look, he added, "Figuratively speaking, of course." He grinned. "So I was figuring we borrow Fogg's air-ship and do a hit-and-run, snatch-and-grab kind of operation."

"I like that plan." Blayne nodded. "Passepartout, can you foresee Fogg denying us the use of the Aurora?"

"To be saving Miss Rebecca, Master will certainly be saying yes to anything. Shall I prepare her to leave?"

"Please do." As Passepartout quickly left, Rizzo rose as well. "I had better go pack."

"Do that. I think a long-distance raid would be safest. Land the Aurora several miles away from the prison and take them by surprise."

"I like that plan." Rizzo smiled at her and bowed before leaving.

"Sounds like you two do this kind of thing a lot." Jules noted softly.

Blayne jumped. "Well, we see our fair share of action." she admitted, sipping her scotch. "As you seem to, Monsieur Verne." She smiled at him over the glass's rim.

Jules grinned and bowed his head. "Well..." He shrugged, then pressed on with his questioning. "But, I don't understand. If you don't work for the Americans, who do you work for?"

"I work for... the people I work for." She smiled and bowed her head. "As Passepartout said, we are a multi-national organization. We don't owe our allegiance to any government. No the Americans, not the British, not the Russians or the Ottomans."

"But who funds you?"

She smiled. She had not expected such a practical question from a young dreamer like Jules. "We fund ourselves. Many of our members have... marketable skills."

"I don't understand."

"We own patents on certain inventions. We own a number of plantations and orchards. Very mundane stuff, really." She smiled up at him. "And there a handful of rich families that contribute to the cause."

"What is the cause?"

"You do know how to jump right to the point, Monsieur Verne." She smiled at him. "Um, I guess you could say Democracy is the main thing we strive for, but there are others. We are very strong believers in the free exchange of knowledge."

"Is that why you fight against the League?"

"The League fights against us, Jules Verne, against the future. We just... fight back." 

"The future?" Jules smiled. He absently wondered exactly how much about him she actually knew. Could she know how much those words would speak to him? Was that why she had chosen them.

"Is there any cause more worth fighting for?" she asked quietly. "You've seen the future, Monsieur Verne? Then you know what it is we fight for." She sighed gently and sank into a reverie so deep that Jules was reluctant to disturb her.

"What do you call your organization?"

She blinked, surprised by the question. "We have many names, most secret."

"It seems odd to me that a group dedicated to the free exchange of information should keep itself secret from the world."

"How better to protect ourselves?" She took his hands in hers. "Look at me, Jules. Can you doubt my sincerity?"

He shook his head, taken aback. "No..."

"Good." She smiled and gave his hands a little squeeze. "During numerous religious persecutions throughout history, members of the religion being persecuted have gone under-ground to protect themselves from those who would persecute them. We've done the same to protect ourselves from the League."

"Then you were public at one time?"

She nodded. "And almost wiped out in less than a year." She smiled at him again. "And since I know that you are simply fishing for enough information to identify us, I must respectfully decline to answer any further questions along this line."

Jules blushed and bowed his head. "I though I was being clever."

"You were." She winked at him. "But unlike you, I do this for a living." She rose quietly and left Jules to his thoughts.

Jules stared after her thoughtfully, wondering what it would be like to have that amount of poise and confidence. And that strength of conviction. 

Blayne joined Passepartout in the Aurora's kitchen. "Jean?" she began.

He turned from his packing and smiled up at her. "Bren?"

"Jean, I am very worried about Fogg."

"We is all being worried, Bren." Passepartout frowned slightly. He got up. "But when we is finding Miss Rebecca, he is being better. Right?"

Blayne sighed. "I'm really not sure."

"I is not understanding."

"He has this... connection to Rebecca, Jean, and I think that it might be what's causing most of his distress now."

"Is not just being upset, then?"

She shook her head. "I think he's experiencing some measure of whatever discomfort Rebecca is in."

"This is... possible?" He frowned dubiously.

She nodded. "Fogg has a rare talent It's untrained, but it's there. And where Rebecca is concerned, that talent is amplified. I really don't know why or how, but..." She shook her head. "Jean, if anything happens to Rebecca, I can't imagine what would happen to Phileas, though I'm guessing it won't be pretty."

"You mean… if she die... he die too?"

Blayne closed her eyes. "If he's lucky." She sighed. "Jean, you've seen the way Fogg takes loss. It's never a pretty sight... But Rebecca. Her death would shatter him."

"But he is eventually to be getting over even this..."

She shook her head. "Jean, I have long viewed Rebecca as the only thing which keeps Phileas alive. This is not just psychological. It is spiritual."

"Oh." Passepartout was silent for several minutes. Then he brightened visibly. "Then we is better being that much more sure to be rescuing Miss Rebecca quickly and in only one piece."

Blayne could not help but smile at his optimism. "Bless you, Jean." She hugged him swiftly. "We'll leave as soon as Rizzo returns."

"Will my master yet be awake?"

"Probably not, which is probably just as well. You know how he feels about Rizzo."

"All this fuss he is making over one little innocent flirtation to Miss Rebecca." Passepartout shook his head. "My Master is being very territorial at times."

Blayne smiled and nodded. Sometimes, smiling and nodding was best. "We'll carry him aboard. You don't have to worry about waking him."

Passepartout nodded. "Is good, but... when will Master be awakening?"

"In another six or seven hours."

"Is long time. Miss Brenna's sleep-potion is making Passepartout's looking like warm milk."

"I had your 'warm milk' once, Jean. Woke up ten hours later with no memory of where I was or how I got there."

"Ah, but you was sleeping well?"

"Very well." she admitted with a laugh. "Do you have a stretcher of any kind that we can carry Fogg on?"

"I is getting it."

*****

Jules sat silently in the Aurora's sitting room. In fact, everyone was silent, except for Agent Rizzo who sat on the floor gently strumming a guitar. Jules would not have called the sounds issuing from the guitar 'music' but Rizzo seemed pleased with the results. Wearing a faint smile, he bobbed his head in time and occasionally tapped his foot against the floor. Blayne was staring at him in disgust. She had been unaccountably reluctant to allow him to bring the guitar on board in the first place, but Jules noted that her foot occasionally tapped in time with the strange 'music' Rizzo was making. She would catch herself, stop, and make angry faces at Rizzo.

Finally, she jumped out of her seat and started towards the stairs. "I'm going to check on Fogg."

Passepartout looked in from the steering cabin. "Is you needing help?"

"No, no help, thanks." She grabbed a satchel that Rizzo had brought with him and started up the stairs. 

Jules rose to follow her. "Don't, man." Rizzo advised mildly. 

"But…" Jules stared uncertainly after Blayne. He was concerned about Fogg's safety for no good reason he could name.

"He'll be fine, man. Bren can be an uptight short-hair at times, but she cares about him."

Uptight short-hair? Jules stared at Rizzo for a moment before sitting down again. "Did you write that thing you were playing?"

"Nah. It's a Hendrix. Star-Spangled Banner."

Jules nodded although this failed to clarify anything at all. "Do you know any others?"

"There are very few I don't know, actually." Rizzo grinned at him. "I hear a song once and I can play it note-perfect. Here, check this one out. I always tease Bren about how much it sounds like her."

In spite of himself, Jules moved his chair closer to Rizzo. He had inherited an interest in music from his mother. Yet another of his interests that his father had disapproved of. When Rizzo struck up the opening notes, Jules was almost relieved to hear that this sounded much more like actual music than the previous piece. He was surprised when Rizzo began singing. The man had an amazing voice, substantially more mellow than his speaking voice. He even managed to sound serious, and more than a little sad.

"She would never say where she came from:   
Yesterday don't matter when it's gone.   
While the sun is bright,   
Or in the darkest night   
No one knows.   
She comes and goes. 

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday.   
Who could hang a name on you?   
When you change with every new day   
Still I'm gonna miss you... 

Don't question why she needs to be so free   
She'll tell you it's the only way to be.   
She just can't be chained   
To a life where nothing's gained   
And nothing's lost.   
But such a cost... 

'There's no time to lose,' I heard her say,   
'Catch your dreams before they slip away.   
Dying all the time...   
Lose your dreams   
And you may lose your mind.   
Ain't life unkind?'

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday.   
Who could hang a name on you?   
When you change with every new day   
Still I'm gonna miss you…"

*****

Unaware that she was the object of a serenade less than ten feet below her feet, Blayne moved silently around Phileas's room, not wishing to wake him. She quietly filled a basin with cool water and soaked several washcloths in it. By the time she was done, Phileas had begun to stir. She wrung the excess water out of one of the cloths and gently caressed his face with it. 

Somewhat revived, he covered her hand with his. "Re… becca?" he groaned, trying to make out her face in the darkness.

"It's Blayne." she replied gently, moving the cloth over his throat and bare chest. "How do you feel?"

"You drugged me…"

"I deemed it necessary that you sleep." Blayne said without remorse or shame. "If nothing else to allow me to better assess your condition. So how do you feel?" She continued moving the cloth over his bare skin, offering him what relief she could.

He sighed. "Rested. Weak…"

"Still? Is it better?"

"It's worse." he sighed.

Blayne echoed the sound. "And your connection with Rebecca?"

Phileas stared up at her in the darkness. "Why do you believe in this thing? When no one else does…"

"The human race is composed primarily of idiots, Fogg." she snapped. "How is your connection with Rebecca?"

"Weaker. It's slipping away from me. She is slipping away from me…"

Blayne sighed. "Will you let me try something?"

"What?" He stared warily up at her.

"Something that might strengthen your bond with her."

"Do it." Phileas said quickly. 

"You don't even know what it is yet. Do you really trust me that much?"

"It depends on the time of day and the prevailing winds." Phileas smiled weakly at her. "What does it involve?"

"I give you a shot and I show you how to put yourself into a mental state that will strengthen the bond. It's called hypnosis."

"What's in the shot?" Phileas asked, frowning.

"An agent that will… strengthen your natural abilities."

"What natural abilities?" Phileas shook his head. "You make less sense than Passepartout at times."

"Still strong enough to whine, I see." Blayne opened Rizzo's satchel and pulled out a syringe and a glass vial. "Well?"

Phileas sighed. "I should know better by now than to trust you with syringes full of mind-altering drugs." Phileas noted. "Will it help you find Rebecca?"

"Undoubtedly." She filled the needle and carefully tapped out the air-bubbles. She sat on the side of the bed and took his arm. She held it firmly under her left arm and looked for a good vein. Pinching his left upper arm with two fingers on her left hand, she used her right to slide the needle in. "I'm going to inject now." she said, removing her fingers from his upper arm. "This may sting a bit. Try not to flinch."

Phileas nodded. As promised, it stung rather badly. He made a face, but did not move or make a sound. By the time Blayne slid the needle out, he was already becoming light-headed. "How does this work?"

"You just lay back and relax. Listen to the sound of my voice and try not to focus on anything else. Okay?"

"Okay…" He nodded weakly. 

Blayne sighed and pulled his arm into her lap. She felt for a pulse before beginning. He was already weak, and the rational part of her mind could not believe that she had just given the man such a powerful drug under the circumstances. His pulse was slow but strong. She kept her fingers positioned over his pulse-point as she began.

"Fogg, I want for you to breathe very deeply. Nice deep breaths, in through the mouth and out through the nose. Concentrate on your breathing…" She waited until his breathing had slowed substantially before continuing. "Now I want you to listen. How many people, including yourself, can you hear breathing?"

"Two."

She nodded. "Good. Now concentrate very hard and listen for a third person. Listen until you hear her breathing." She waited.

"I hear her. Is it Rebecca?"

"Does it sound like her?"

Phileas, who would have recognized the sound of Rebecca's breathing in a crowded room, nodded.

"Good, now listen for her heartbeat. Do you hear it."

A slight pause, then, "Yes…"

"Good. You can hear her heart beating. Can you hear yours?"

"Yes…"

"Good. Concentrate on yours now. Keep Rebecca's in your consciousness, but focus on yours. Focus on controlling it. Make it beat in unison with Rebecca's. Can you do that."

"I'll try…" Phileas muttered uncertainly. He began breathing very deeply. 

Blayne felt his arm relax and his pulse change. It was faster, more irregular, weaker. "Is it done?"

"Yes…"

"Good. Your mind is now occupying two bodies at once, Fogg. Do you feel that?"

"Yes. It's… strange."

"I'm sure it is. You can tell which one is yours because of my hands on your arm and my knee against your side. Do you feel these things?"

"Yes…"

Blayne sighed in relief. "Perfect. Now, tell me what the other one feels like."

"My arms hurt. They're slippery."

Blayne frowned. "From what?"

"I think it might be blood. There are chains on my wrists. I'm hanging from my wrists. My feet aren't on the ground." 

Blayne winced. "What else hurts?"

"My back. My sides, my ribs. My legs and feet… So many chains. They were kicking me before, hitting me, but they've stopped now." 

Blayne bowed her head. "Open your eyes. Tell me where you are."

Phileas's eyes remained shut. "It's dark in this place. It smells. I can only open my left eye. The other is too swollen…"

Blayne felt tears sliding down her cheeks as she envisioned Rebecca hanging from the ceiling of a dark, smelly cell, bloody and battered. "Is anything broken?"

Tears were now streaming down Phileas's face as well. "Maybe my ribs. Very hard to breathe."

Blayne nodded. "Okay. You need to remain calm. I want you to come back to yourself now. Feel my hands on your arms." His pulse became stronger. "Do you feel them?"

"Yes. But I want to go to her again…"

"No, Fogg. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. For now, you have to forget what you've experienced here."

"I don't want to." 

"You have to, for her sake. You need to be strong for her now."

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Just do it. She needs you to be the strong one right now. Later she can be strong for you. Now, you must be strong for her."

"Yes…" He nodded.

"Good. And once you've forgotten what has happened here, you may come back to me. Not until then. And when you do, you'll feel stronger, strong enough for both of you."

Phileas nodded and after a time, his eyelids fluttered. His pulse was normal again. He began sitting up. Blayne reached out and helped him. He groaned and made a face.

"Why does the inside of my mouth taste like a sewer?"

She smiled faintly. "Just a side-effect of the drug. Other than that, how do you feel?"

"Much better, actually. I expected to feel worse."

She shook her head. "But you don't do you? Use your strength to her advantage. Keep her in your thoughts and will her to have a portion of your strength."

He nodded. "Could you hand me my shirt. I'd like to go have a cup of tea to have this taste from my mouth."

Blayne helped him dress, quietly and with all the detachment of a woman who performed this action every day. Then she walked with him to the sitting room, supporting him. Although he felt worlds better psychologically, physically he remained weak. She helped him into a chair. Rizzo was teaching Jules the words and music to "Let it Be" and the two did not immediately notice the presence of Blayne and Phileas. Phileas seemed both entranced and calmed by the music, so Blayne allowed Rizzo to finish before announcing their presence. She made a mental note to yell at Rizzo later on.

"Gentlemen." Blayne said softly when Rizzo had finished.

"Fogg!" Jules climbed to his feet and approached his friend. "How are you feeling?"

"My condition is much improved, Verne. Passepartout!"

Passepartout came rushing into the sitting room. "Is my Master being well again?"

Phileas nodded. "Much better, thank you. I could, however, use a cup of tea."

"Right away, Master."

"How close are we to Prussia, Passepartout?" Phileas asked.

"Not more than an hour from our destination, Master."

Phileas nodded. "Thank you, Passepartout." He looked at Blayne thoughtfully. "We'll discuss your borrowing of my dirigible after we have recovered Rebecca."

"At your leisure, Fogg." Blayne smiled at him. "In the meantime, as we are less than an hour from our destination, we should discuss the particulars of my plan."

"Oh, then you do, in fact, have one? Other than drugging and abducting me, that is? How remarkable."

Blayne ignored this comment and helped herself to a sip from her flask. "We land several miles from the prison, borrow a pair of post-horses and launch a long-distance raid. We extract Rebecca while maintaining a zero-presence profile. We return to the Aurora."

Rizzo nodded. "And then we get the hell out of Dodge."

Blayne shot him a warning glance, but nodded. "It's a good plan, Fogg."

"It is. You and I can manage it easily."

"I don't think so, Fogg." Blayne shook her head. "You're in no shape to do this."

Fogg shook his head and leaned towards Blayne. "This is my Rebecca we're talking about here, Blayne. I am not leaving this in the hands of Agent Rizzo."

Rizzo made a rude comment under his breath.

"Fogg, you are staying." Blayne said firmly. "Someone needs to stay and guard the Aurora."

"Let him do it!" Phileas jerked his thumb at Rizzo.

Blayne rose and walked over to Phileas. She bent over him and whispered, "Do you really want to leave Agent Rizzo alone and in charge of your ship? You do know that he takes things apart when he's bored, don't you?"

Phileas stared up at her cautiously. "'Takes things apart' does he?"

She smiled bitterly and nodded. "The bigger the better, Fogg. You really want to leave him alone with your ship?"

"And there is the matter of my superior training in these things." Rizzo noted mildly.

"Fine!" Phileas snapped, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Go!" He struggled to his feet and faced Rizzo. "But if one hair on her head is out of place because of your carelessness, so help me-"

"Fogg!" Blayne said warningly. "You might wish to show a bit of gratitude to Agent Rizzo."

"I'll show him gratitude when I have my Rebecca back in one piece." Phileas said firmly.

"Whatever." Rizzo shrugged as though it did not much matter to him either way. He was used to Phileas, and though he would never admit it, rather amused by him.

Less than 20 minutes later, they all felt the gentle jolt of the Aurora setting down. Passepartout entered the sitting room. 

"We is where you have requested, Miss Brenna."

"Thank you, Jean. We'll be gone less than two hours."

"Are you armed?" Phileas asked as they turned to leave.

"We each have two guns and a few throwing-knives."

"Take this." Phileas opened a drawer and pulled out a small satchel. He handed it to Blayne.

She looked inside. "Dynamite, Fogg? The point is to maintain a low profile."

"Just in case." Phileas said softly. There was real concern in his voice.

Blayne nodded and accepted the satchel. "Thank you."

"Bring my Rebecca home in one piece, Blayne, but keep yourself safe as well."

She nodded. "That's the plan."

Rizzo said softly, "I like the plan."

Blayne smiled at him and the two started off. A quarter of a mile off, they found a post-stable and 'borrowed' a pair of horses. After leading them a safe distance from the stable, they mounted and spurred the horses forward. Post-horses were bred for speed, and these two were fine examples. They closed the distance to the prison in less than 30 minutes and the horses were not even sweating. 

As their intelligence had indicated, the prison was in an extremely remote location. Only a handful of guards could be seen about the perimeter. Doubtless, the Prussian government did not think that such a well-hidden prison required more. Blayne and Rizzo tied their horses far enough from the perimeter that they would not draw notice, then they slowly crept on all fours towards the prison.

Using hand-signals developed by years of working closely together, they devised a plan. Rizzo crept to the left while Blayne carefully started right. Rizzo struck his guard on the base of the skull. Remembering Phileas's description of Rebecca's condition, Blayne casually broke his neck and resumed her trip towards the prison. She met with Rizzo near the entrance of the prison. The two communicated their success by hand-signals and once again took stock of the situation. Two guards stood at the entrance of the prison. No others were immediately evident.

The two quickly and silently closed the distance to the front entrance. Blayne did not hesitate before doing to this guard what she had done to the last. Rizzo, who had his arm tightly around the second guard's throat, stared at her, wide-eyed. She made the hand-signal for 'later' and cold-cocked Rizzo's guard. Rizzo stared at her for a moment longer before following her into the small prison. It was not hard to find Rebecca as the tiny prison only had one cell. Rizzo's mind was immediately taken off of Blayne's actions when he saw the way Rebecca was bound.

Her wrists were tightly manacled and the chain had been tightly wrapped around her wrists and lower arms numerous times. Another chain was strung through that chain and suspended her several inches above the ground. Her arms were wrapped in chains as well, keeping them firmly pressed together behind her head. Her legs were similarly trussed. Her ankles were bleeding as well.

"Oh, my God." Rizzo whispered, staring at her.

Blayne produced a small lantern and lit it. This made the scene before them even more horrible. Perhaps to avoid taking any chances at all with her, they had striped her of her clothes. She had obviously been beaten quite recently, and blood ran down her bare arms. Her right eye was indeed swollen shut as Phileas had said. A livid bruise on her right side indicated possible broken ribs. Blayne swallowed hard and set about picking the lock as Rizzo stood guard.

She strode into the cell. "Rizzo, do you have those bolt-cutters?"

He nodded and tossed them to her. Blayne cut the chain holding Rebecca up and gently bore her to the ground. "No wonder Phileas was so out of it..." she whispered. She checked Rebecca's pulse before cutting away the rest of the chains. "Becky? Can you hear me?"

Rebecca stared up at her with glassy eyes. 

"Right, then." 

Blayne extended her hand without looking up from Rebecca. Rizzo handed her a small leather satchel. Blayne reached inside and pulled out a small wooden box, full of different vials and a number of disposable syringes. She stared down at Rebecca for another moment before looking back at the vials. She counted, three across and two down, and pulled the vial out of its place. She picked up a needle, judged Rebecca's weight by eye, added five pounds and jabbed the needle through the vial's rubber casing. 

Rizzo looked over her shoulder and noticed which vial she had selected, a powerful stimulant. "Is that wise, man?" he asked gently.

"Don't second-guess me." Blayne snapped, feeling as though she was trapped in some insane nightmare. She licked her fingers to wipe away the dirt and blood on Rebecca's arm so that she could find a vein. 

"Registering my objection to this as well." Rizzo muttered behind her. "I'm from the sixties, Blayne. I know my drugs, and that shit is _not_ meant to be mainlined."

"Objection duly noted." Blayne replied flatly, injecting Rebecca. She replaced the vial and found a painkiller. She gave Rebecca a smaller dose of that, not wanting to overwhelm her system with drugs that had conflicting purposes. "Now we wait." she announced.

Rizzo peered anxiously out the door of the cell. "Not liking this, Bren. Not one little bit."

"Again, noted." Blayne bent over Rebecca, again feeling for pulse. "Come on, cousin…" she whispered in Rebecca's ear. "Can't do this alone, you know. I need your help. Can't face Phileas, can't do my job, can't even smile without you there to make the day bright…"

"That's very sweet, Bren…" Rebecca groaned.

Blayne heaved a sigh of relief. She looked skyward. "Thanks. I owe you one." She helped Rebecca into a sitting position. "Can you walk?"

"I don't think so. Can you carry me?"

"Yeah…" Wincing at the pain that she knew she must be causing her friend, she slung her over one shoulder and started towards the door. "Rizzo, how's our profile?"

"No alarm yet, so I'd say they haven't found the bodies..."

"Then I'm guessing it's time to get the hell out of Dodge." 

They hurried back to their horses, managing to avoid the remaining guards, and spurred them on as quickly as they could. They made it back to the Aurora in half the time it had taken them to reach the prison. Blayne spent the whole ride struggling to keep Rebecca upright in the saddle and steer the horse at the same time. By the time they returned to the Aurora, she was fairly certain that she had managed to win herself a nasty set of saddle-sores for her effort. 

Phileas and Jules were waiting at the door for them, and as soon as they had helped Rebecca in, Jules ran to tell Passepartout that it was time to leave. 

Rebecca, partially recovered, stared around the Aurora in confusion. "Phileas!" she cried when she saw him. Blayne and Rizzo helped her cross the room to him, then stepped back as he took her gently into his arms. "Phileas..." she repeated, kissing him gently on the side of his neck. "I missed you..." she sobbed.

"Oh, Rebecca..." he muttered, holding her as tightly as he dared, either not noticing or politely ignoring her total lack of clothing. He rocked her gently. "I was so worried about you."

Jules watched this scene with tears in his eyes. Passepartout looked as furious as Blayne felt. Phileas and Rebecca seemed quite oblivious to the presence of four other people in the room as they held each other as tightly as they could. Rizzo felt faintly as if he were spying on a pair in the midst of love-making and turned his back on the scene. He began riffling through his satchel.

Blayne gently pulled them apart. "Get hot blankets." she ordered Phileas, supporting Rebecca up the stairs. "Rizzo, bring that bag up." 

Rizzo immediately marshaled Jules and Passepartout and herded them into the kitchen.

Rebecca allowed Blayne to help her up the stairs and into bed. "Where's Phileas?" she asked suddenly, looking panicked.

"He'll be up soon. I promise."

Rebecca looked up at Blayne. "Brenna, this is going to sound crazy, and I probably wouldn't tell anyone but you, but when I was in that cell, I could feel him there with me..."

"I believe you, Becky." Blayne said, taking her pulse. "Just try to rest. You're in dreadful shape."

"I'm dying, aren't I?" Rebecca asked softly. She was not afraid, only a little sad as she pictured what her death would do to Phileas.

"No!" Blayne shook her head vehemently.

"That last beating, Brenna... It was very brutal. I think they broke some ribs... and I can't breathe too well... One of the ribs may have punctured my lung."

Blayne was aware that Phileas was standing behind them. His timing could not have been worse. Phileas handed her a pile of hot blankets. "You can not let my Rebecca die..." he pleaded softly.

"I know that!" Blayne snapped. "As soon as Rizzo gets up here, we'll start working on her." 

"What can I do to help?"

Blayne closed her eyes. "Be calm. Hold her hand. If nothing else, we can make her comfortable."

Phileas stared at her. "She is dying then?"

"Not if I can help it." Blayne promised, not entirely sure that she could make good on this particular one.


	4. Chapter 4

****

Chapter 4-Revelations

Pushing Phileas out of the way, Blayne draped on of the hot blankets over Rebecca. Her skin was like ice. Lifting one corner of the blanket, she began gently prodding Rebecca's side. As she approached the location of the largest bruise, Rebecca cried out. She bit her lip to avoid embarrassing herself again.

Phileas hurried to the other side of the bed and took her hand tenderly in his. "Look at me, Rebecca..." he breathed, caressing her face. "I'm here for you."

"Oh, Phileas..." Rebecca sighed. "I'm so sorry. You must have been so worried..."

"I was, but I'm better now."

"You're a dreadful liar, Phileas." Rebecca smiled sadly up at him.

As they were almost alone, he bent and gently kissed her forehead. Blayne politely ignored this as she continued her examination. She looked up suddenly. "Fogg, would you go see if Rizzo needs any help?"

Phileas reluctantly left the room. 

Rebecca stared at Blayne. "You've lost a lot of your subtlety, Brenna."

"Merely mislaid it for a time. There's something I need to ask you that I'd rather not mention with Phileas about."

Rebecca stared in surprise. "What is it, Brenna?"

"A medical question. About your condition..."

"If you mean am I pregnant..."

"No, Rebecca..." Blayne shook her head. She was not entirely sure how to broach the subject with a Victorian Lady. "When we found you, you had no clothes..."

"They took them because they knew I carry concealed weapons."

"And... that's all?"

Rebecca stared at Blayne in surprise for a few minutes. Then she slowly began to comprehend. "You mean... Oh, no, Brenna! Aside from beating me within an inch of my life, they were perfect gentlemen." She snorted derisively.

"Good to know." Blayne smiled, relieved. Such an event could have seriously altered the established blood-lines. She bent over and kissed Rebecca on the forehead. "Your ribs are definitely broken, but they don't seem to be puncturing your lungs. I'll bandage them as soon as we've stopped your bleeding. Okay?"

"Then I'll live?"

Blayne responded with typical honesty. "Probably." 

Blayne picked up a roll of bandages and started on Rebecca's wrists, lacerated from her struggles. She hesitated as Phileas and Rizzo entered, each carrying a large bowl. Passepartout and Jules followed, carrying assorted bottles. Rizzo also carried his satchel. He placed his bowl on Rebecca's bedside table.

"Disinfectant." he whispered to Blayne. "Cobbled together in Jean's laboratory. Fogg has clean water."

She nodded gratefully and began cleansing Rebecca's cuts. Rizzo handed her a roll of fine twine and a thick needle and she began carefully stitching the more gaping injuries. She started with her arms and face and then moved on to her legs, cleaning, stitching where necessary, and then carefully bandaging as the others stood by uncertainly, looking on.

When it came time to deal with the injuries to Rebecca's torso, Blayne looked. "Jules, Jean, Rizzo. Out."

"But..." Passepartout began.

"We can help." Jules protested. "We want to..."

"Rebecca is naked under those blankets, Jules." Rizzo noted gently, steering the young man towards the door. "I believe Bren is trying to guard her modesty."

Jules quickly fled. Passepartout stubbornly remained. "But I is being good helper." he protested. At a sharp look from Phileas, he too fled. Grinning, Rizzo followed.

Phileas rose to leave as well, but Blayne shook her head. "I need some help. I figured as her closest relative..."

Phileas shook his head, turning pink. "Honestly, Blayne..."

Blayne sighed. "Damn your Victorian British modesty, Fogg! I need a strong man to help me here. So, if you're not willing to do it, you can pick between Rizzo and Jean. I'd suggest Jean as the stronger."

"My valet is not touching Rebecca when she is bereft of clothing!"

"Then you do it."

"No!"

"Phileas..." Rebecca groaned. "Please. If it has to be anyone, I want it to be you."

Phileas sighed and rolled up his sleeves. He looked at Blayne to avoid looking at Rebecca. "What do I have to do?"

"We're going to sit her up so I can wrap her. I need you to hold her there firm with her arms over her head. You can't let her move when I'm wrapping, and she's got to be sitting up straight. Really it's a two-man job, but with Rebecca's help you should be able to manage it."

Phileas sighed and closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself. Finally, he nodded to Blayne to indicate his readiness. She slid the blanket down to Rebecca's waist, noting the way Phileas colored as she did so. When he saw her bruises, his face hardened into a grim expression.

"Now." she ordered, grabbing Rebecca's left side. Phileas grabbed her right side and they quickly hoisted her into a sitting position.

"That hurts." Rebecca noted softly. She had paled noticeably.

"Lift her arms up, Phileas." Blayne ordered him. 

He did so, flinching slightly at Rebecca's stifled groan. His face hardened again and he held her arms securely over her head. "You're doing just fine, Rebecca." he muttered into her ear.

"Hold her like that." Blayne ordered. She looked over at him and smiled. "I'm sorry to have to do this to you." she said softly she told Phileas.

He shook his head slightly, blinking.

"How does that feel, Rebecca?" Blayne asked, gently poking and prodding. "Anything rubbing where it shouldn't be?"

"No." Rebecca shook her head. 

She was even more pale than she had been when they had brought her back aboard the Aurora, but she had that determined expression on her face. In fact, all three of them had it. It was trade-mark Fogg in any unpleasant but necessary situation.

"Hold this end for a second, Fogg." Blayne said, handing him one end of the bandage. 

Keeping one hand around Rebecca's hands, he held the bandage tightly in the other. He could see what Blayne meant about this being a two-man job, but Rebecca stoically did her part. With his help, Blayne soon had the first layer wrapped around Rebecca. Rebecca's lower lip trembled, and her face occasionally contorted, but she did not make a sound as Blayne pulled the bandage firm. Phileas returned both hands to holding Rebecca upright as Blayne continued the job of wrapping. She moved as quickly as she could, tightly wrapping Rebecca's entire abdomen and chest for good measure.

She looked up at Phileas. "Have Jean reheat the blankets. This took longer than I had anticipated."

Phileas looked down at Rebecca. He smiled at her and caressed her cheek before leaving. 

"Can he stay with me until I'm asleep?"

"Of course he can." Blayne said, smiling. She reached into Rizzo's satchel and pulled out a fresh syringe and two more vials. 

"What is it?" Rebecca asked, half-sitting to get a better look. 

Blayne gently pushed her back down. "This one will help your body fight infection, and this one will ease your pain and it will help you rest."

Rebecca nodded and leaned back again. Her trust in Blayne was complete. Blayne quickly gave her the shots, then tucked the needles and vials away as Phileas re-entered, his arms piled high with hot blankets. They quickly wrapped Rebecca in one. She let out a little groan.

"Are you in pain?" Phileas asked, concerned.

She shook her head, a little smile playing across her face.

"It feels good." Blayne assured Phileas. "Being wrapped in hot blankets, I mean. You should try it some time."

Phileas looked down at Rebecca and smiled at the smile on her face. "We should let her rest now."

"Maybe she'd like you to stay with her." Blayne suggested softly, saving Rebecca the embarrassment of having to make such an unladylike request herself.

"Rebecca?" Phileas asked.

"I'd like the company. I... don't want to be alone again."

"Call me if you need anything." Blayne muttered as she left them.

Phileas smiled gently down at Rebecca. "Are you in much pain?" he asked softly.

"Not anymore…" Rebecca smiled up at him. Either Blayne's medicine was working faster than she had anticipated, or the mere presence of her beloved cousin was relaxing her. "Oh, Phileas, I missed you so much…" she muttered.

He sat on the edge of the bed and gently caressed her face. "I have never been so afraid in my life as I was for you the last four days." he admitted.

Rebecca reached up and covered his hand with her own, pressing it to her cheek. "I though about you a lot…"

"Don't talk now. You need to rest."

"Stay with me, please." Rebecca pleaded. "That place, Phileas, it was dark and cold…"

Phileas gently laid two fingers over her lips. "I know. But you're safe now. And I won't leave you. Rest now, Rebecca."

Rebecca sighed, relieved. "Thank you…" She closed her eyes and stopped fighting the medicine.

Phileas sat on the side of the bed looking down at her for several minutes. Watching her sleep always made him feel calm, and although the livid bruise on her face was, in his mind, an outrage, he still found her beautiful. He picked up another blanket and gently covered her, taking the time to carefully tuck it under her feet. She did not even stir as he folded her arms over her chest. He started to rise, then stopped. He picked up her left arm again and held her hand against his cheek thoughtfully. He lightly kissed it before returning it to her chest.

He pulled a small chair across the room and positioned it by the bed. As he kept his vigil, his hands were folded in what might have been prayer.

*****

Blayne found Rizzo on the observation deck, sitting cross-legged on the rail, playing that guitar of his again. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Riz."

"And I wish you wouldn't break perfectly healthy necks…"

Blayne entertained the notion of pushing him over the edge for about three seconds before walking up to him. She rested her hand gently on his back. "Come down from there."

He nodded and jumped off of the railing. He rested his guitar on the floor and stared at Blayne. "What was that all about, anyway? You know something I don't?"

"One or two things." Blayne told him mildly. "You should know by now that there's no real need for you to question my judgment in these matters."

He conceded this with a nod. "You've never steered me wrong before, but that looked a little too much like anger and not enough like a rational attempt to maintain the time-line."

Blayne stared at her feet. "Riz… You trust me?"

"With my life."

She smiled up at him. "That's good to know, because it may come down to that soon enough."

He sighed. "I know. This shit is ugly."

She sighed too. "I've always felt sorry for you, Riz. This isn't how you were meant to live. People like you… they should stay young and idealistic forever."

"Well, I'm still young, at least." Rizzo said gently, sliding an arm around her. "And idealism… well, it can be dangerous, you know."

"I know." She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. 

"How's Rebecca?"

"She'll be fine. Probably."

Rizzo nodded. "What about you?"

"Me?" Blayne stared up at him, loosing herself in his eyes. She had always loved his eyes. To her embarrassment, she found herself spontaneously quoting late 20th century song lyrics. Rizzo sometimes had that effect on people.

"In your eyes faint as the singing of a lark,   
That somehow this black night,   
Feels warmer for that spark   
Warmer for the spark,   
To hold us 'til the day   
When fear will lose its grip   
And heaven has its way.   
Heaven knows no frontiers,   
And I've seen heaven in your eyes…"

Rizzo smiled down at her, hugging her tightly. "You been taking some of what Rebecca's on, Sister Golden-Hair?"

She blushed and shook her head. "No, just… Lost in the moment."

"Oh, one of those. I get them sometimes."

"Like that time you tried to surf the English Channel?" Blayne smiled at the memory. At the time, she had assumed him quite mad for it, but now she understood that all the 'crazy' things he did were just his own way of maintaining his sanity in the face of what had driven better Agents over the edge. She stared at a passing cloud, thinking of Johansen.

"Tell me something." Rizzo said gently, giving her a little shake.

"Yes?"

"Why the interest in Verne?"

"I beg your pardon?" She stared warily at him, not entirely certain where he was going with the question, and not much liking the implication.

"Jules Verne. Why are our superiors so interested in him?"

"Oh…" Blayne nodded her understanding and considered the question for a minute. "Did you know that the young man sees the future?" she asks quietly. "Not the whole things, but random bits and pieces of it. Enough to be valuable."

"Um, at the risk of sounding skeptical, we come from times when most of his prophecies have already been fulfilled. Unlike the League, we already know this shit."

She shook her head. "Most of what he knows will never make it into his books. That's half our job, right there."

Rizzo stared at her. "What? To censor his writing?"

"No, of course not. Just to… guide him. To help him use discretion. Keep a secret?" she asked, looking around quickly.

"Lay it on me."

"Our best guess is that Verne's writing actually has had an impact on the future. His future, our future… He's giving people ideas. Now, imagine if he had written a story that involved nuclear warfare. He'd have replaced Einstein in the equation, and suddenly the bomb is discovered before the end of the Second World War. And maybe not by the Americans…"

Rizzo considered this. "Damn."

She nodded. "Imagine if the League got their hands on him. Now they don't know about the A-bomb now, but they would really quickly, and Count Gregory has the resources to make it happen in this century."

"Good God. The man should be under a 24 hour guard."

"He was for a while. Subtly. When I could no longer track and guide his movements sufficiently from a distance, Agent Arago moved in to take my place. Dumas, on assignment from the French government, assisted us for a time. Of course, neither he nor the French knew exactly why, but it didn't make him any less helpful in guiding Jules."

"And now that he's all grown up, you move back in to take over again?"

"Only for a time. He's young still, and impressionable. The results of prolonged interaction with him could be… problematic."

Rizzo nodded. "I can see that. You're attractive by the standards of any age. He falls for you, maybe he doesn't marry. Maybe Michel never introduces you to this life…"

"Michel had great potential. His death was a great blow to our side."

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise." Rizzo assured her.

"Jules must live to die of natural causes." Blayne muttered absently, staring out over the passing landscape. "The Foggs must live to die of natural causes. It's a great burden…"

"Which one of them are you descended from?" Rizzo asked gently. Finding her in a forthcoming mood, he hoped to get the answer that she had been withholding from him from the beginning.

"Go scratch, Riz. That's classified." 

"Worth a try, though." Rizzo grinned at her. "Seriously, though. What do we want from Verne. I seriously doubt it only extends as far as keeping him safe from the League."

"There are those who would exploit him to our advantage."

"And you?"

"I don't want either side to have him." Blayne turned her back on the landscape and stared at Rizzo. "If power corrupts, what corruption does the power to see and shape the future bring? What if we become as bad as the League in our quest to keep them from changing the course of history? What if we decide maintaining the status quo isn't enough and decide to shape the future to our specifications?"

"It would be insane to even attempt it." Rizzo admitted. "Which isn't to say that, if asked, I wouldn't infiltrate their HQ and blow Gregory away myself."

"We've all lost people we love to him. That makes it hard to be rational about our real purpose."

"Guess that's what we have the computers for." Rizzo picked up his guitar and handed it to her. "Play that song for me. The one you were quoting from earlier."

She nodded and bent to tune the guitar.

*****

The five friends gathered around Rebecca's bed just as soon as Phileas reported that she was awake, each eager, for their own reasons, to find out what had happened. Rebecca was propped up, leaning against several pillows and finishing the tea Passepartout had made for her. Blayne had given her some pills for the pain, but so far, although she was still in quite a bit of pain, she had not needed any. She took this as a promising sign.

She set her teacup down and looked around the room. "Who rescued me?" she asked first.

"Rizzo and I did." Blayne told her. 

"Couldn't have done it without Fogg's air-ship." Rizzo added softly.

Rebecca smiled at them. "Thank you all."

"Are you ready to tell us what happened?" Blayne asked gently.

Rebecca nodded slowly and grasped Phileas's hand before beginning. "It was a routine mission. I was very weak still, but having looked at what was required of me, I didn't think it would be a problem. All I had to do was meet a defector, take a statement and smuggle him onto the Aurora and out of the country, where Sir Jonathan would take charge of him. There weren't even any bad guys involved. It was a baby-sitting job."

"Rough little kids…" Rizzo muttered, so softly that only Blayne heard. In a normal voice, he added, "So what happened."

"Well, I met him and took the statement and we started to leave. He said that I looked ill, and I told him that I was recovering from a gun-shot wound. I shouldn't even have mentioned it, but he seemed very concerned. He told me that he had a friend who would give us horses without asking any questions so we could get back to the Aurora more easily. I must still have been half out of it, because I believed him. He was leading me through a small village and I thought everything was okay, but he suddenly pulled out a gun and started shooting at me."

"You were shot?" Phileas gasped, glaring at Blayne for not telling him.

"No." Rebecca shook her head. "He must have been blind with rage, because he fired six shots at me, me standing there in shock, and not one hit. I shot him on his sixth shot. And they arrested me, which would have been the end of it, but one of the guards recognized me from the Queen's last visit."

Phileas buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe we let you walk into a trap like that."

"I'm not sure it was a trap, Phileas. He seemed genuinely eager to get out of the country until the moment he pulled that gun. It's like he snapped."

Blayne reached out and lightly tapped Rizzo on the shoulder. "Sound familiar?" she whispered.

He nodded. "May I ask a question, Rebecca?"

"Of course, Jack." Rebecca looked up at him expectantly.

"Why did Chatsworth send you of all people? Not to be offensive, but still injured as you were, you were hardly the best choice."

Rebecca considered this for a few seconds before nodding. "I rather gathered from what he said that he's having something of a man-power crisis at present. I know personally of at least three Agents who have died under questionable circumstances in the past month alone."

Blayne took a deep breath. "Last week, I was on a mission, a routine assignment not unlike yours. Agent Johansen and I were to meet an informant in a warehouse. That was a set-up. Agent Johansen shot me without warning." She pulled her hair back, showing he barely-healed abrasion over her temple. "Except, the thing is, I don't think the two were related. I've known Sven for years. He gave no indication that anything was wrong, until he pulled out his gun and shot me."

"Are we beginning to sense a pattern yet, boys and girls?" Rizzo asked softly. "Because our two organizations are not the only ones having these problems. I've got reliable reports of the same thing from four European Agencies and the Ottomans. Some of the Agents have been killed with guns and knives, others with bare hands. All the attacking Agents have either been killed in self-defense or committed suicide after successfully killing their partners."

Blayne sighed. "And we don't know why or how…"

"Could the League be involved?" Jules asked quietly.

Blayne eyed him thoughtfully. "It's not an entirely unreasonable assumption, Jules, but there are other bad guys out there than the Count and his men. And that assumes that some human influence is responsible for all of this. I'm sorry, Jules, but we just don't know enough yet to come to any reasonable conclusion. I never saw who ambushed us. Rebecca was arrested by Prussian police for killing a Prussian citizen… We just don't know right now."

Rizzo rested his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "When we get back to England, we may be able to discover more…"

Blayne sighed and nodded, closing her eyes against the tears she felt threatening. "We should let Rebecca rest." she suggested. "And, Rebecca, if you've no objection, I'd like to check you over once more."

"Of course. If you think that's necessary." Rebecca nodded weakly.

Phileas smiled gently at her. "Should I stay or wait outside."

The others had left, except for Blayne who waited by the door. "You don't have to stay any more, Phileas. I was afraid to be alone, but I'm better now. Thank you…"

"If you don't mind, I should like to stay any how."

Rebecca smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and nodded. "Thank you, Phileas."

"My pleasure."

Blayne, noting that the conversation had ended, stepped forward and produced a thermometer, which she placed in Rebecca's mouth. As they waited for it to take a reading, she checked Rebecca's pulse and, by pushing her fingers into the crook of Rebecca's arm, got a crude estimate of blood-pressure.

"Ninety-nine." Blayne announced, staring at the thermometer. "A little elevated, but low enough that we can safely say you don't have an infection. Phileas, can you blow out all the lights except that candle there and draw the shades?"

"Why?"

"I want to check her pupilary response."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want to see how her eyes respond to sudden light. It tells me if her head's been hurt."

"Oh." Phileas quickly drew the shades and turned off the gas-lights. As he walked back to the bed, he handed Blayne the candle.

Blayne cupped her hand around the flame, casting the room into near-total darkness. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. "Becky, I want you to stare straight ahead, if you will. Keep your eyes fixed forward."

"Okay." Rebecca said, focusing on an imaginary point in front of her nose. She was very surprised when Blayne unshielded the flame less than six inches from her eyes, but managed not to move or blink them.

Blayne held the candle there for only a few seconds. "Very good. Phileas, can we have light again."

As Phileas got up to open the shades again, Rebecca whispered. "Well? Am I going to make it?"

"Looks that way, dear, but no more suicide-runs for at least six months. Doctor's orders."

Rebecca sniggered.

"What are you two whispering about?" Phileas asked.

"Girl-talk." Blayne told him. "Could you help me. I want to redo the dressings on her arms and legs."

"What of her chest?" Phileas asked warily.

"Not for a few days at least. Those bandages are the only thing keeping her ribs from shifting every time she squirms. As it is, any more movement than this is not a wise idea for a few weeks at least."

"A few weeks?" Rebecca sighed. "Confined to bed and wrapped in swaddling?" She made a face. "How am I to bathe?"

Blayne shrugged. "We'll have to give you sponge-baths."

"Blayne, I love Rebecca dearly, but I am not helping with that." Phileas muttered.

Blayne grinned. "Nor were you invited to." She squeezed Rebecca's arm. "You're lucky I once thought I wanted to be a doctor. I'm quite used to these kinds of things. After the first few weeks, you'll have enough mobility to bathe yourself again. We may need to hire a lady's maid."

Rebecca made a face but did not comment.

"We'll see, okay. Are you in much pain? Do the pills work okay?"

"I haven't taken one yet. I'm in pain, but it's not unbearable anymore. Just knowing that I'm safe helps."

Blayne smiled at her. "Okay, love. Try and get some more sleep." Blayne gently squeezed her shoulder before rising. She smiled reassuringly at Phileas and touched his face before leaving the bedroom.

Phileas stared after her for a moment before returning his attention to Rebecca. "Shall I dim the lights for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping to read a little before I went back to sleep." 

"I have an idea." Phileas rose and pulled the shades again. He picked up her book and turned off the gas-lights. He placed the candle on her night-stand and pulled his chair close. "I'll read to you, instead. That way, Blayne can't accuse you of not resting."

Rebecca smiled and squeezed his hands. "Thank you, Phileas."

*****

Blayne spent the return trip to England in the cabin, watching Passepartout steer. It was not necessary, she knew, but it was something to keep him occupied. He occasionally glanced over his shoulder at Blayne, perhaps waiting for her to speak. She always just smiled reassuringly at him. At one point, when Jules and Rizzo were occupied in a game of Rummy, she walked up to him and slid her arms around him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. Passepartout smiled at this gesture and gently rubbed the side of his face against hers.

"Thank you." she whispered, kissing his cheek before pulling away. "I needed that."

"I is guessing at this."

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "You're a good man, Jean."

He blushed at this compliment. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Is Miss Rebecca to be recovering or not recovering?"

"It's hard to say, Jean. On the one hand, her injuries are severe and the medicine of this time is limited. On the other hand, this is Rebecca Fogg. She's a strong woman. I'd say she has a good chance."

Passepartout stared thoughtfully at her for a moment. There had been a slight catch in her voice when she had spoken. "I is thinking there is being a 'but'."

"An unless, actually." Blayne admitted. "I have no way yet of knowing if she is bleeding internally, inside. If she is, there's very little that can be done about it…"

"If there is being way, you is finding it." Passepartout replied with assurance.

"Bless you, Jean."

He stared at her quizzically. "But I is not sneezing…" 

*****

They arrived in London after a few more hours without incident. Passepartout and Rizzo carefully loaded Rebecca onto the stretcher and carried her up to her room. Once Rebecca was settled, Blayne and Rizzo left, promising to return with some information on the situation. 

When the returned to the HQ, Blayne went to her office to sort out the mountain of paperwork that their little excursion would require while Rizzo headed to the computer-bank. Blayne helped herself to another bottle of patent medicine from her cabinet as she settled down to the paperwork. She scribbled a quick note to herself to visit a neurologist for her damned headaches, then turned her attention to the dozen or so forms that needed to be filled out and submitted in the next few hours.

Rizzo headed straight for the computer-bank, not even stopping to stow his guitar in his room. "Doc Ross!" he called, entering the room.

Doctor Ross looked up from the read-out he had been bent over. "Welcome home, Agent Rizzo. What can I do for you."

"Need to use a computer."

"You know that all paper-work is to be filed by hand…"

"Blayne's on that. I need to run the numbers on these homicides we've been having."

"Oh." Doctor Ross smiled and nodded his head. He rose and led Rizzo to a small side-room. He held his thumb up to the sensor and the door slid open. "I've been running some numbers on these cases as well, Agent Rizzo, and I'll have them to you as soon as we've analyzed them."

"Thanks, man." Rizzo patted his arm and sat down at the computer. 

If computer technology never ceased to amaze Rizzo, he was even more amazed at how quickly he had taken to working on them. He could type a hundred words a minute, blindfolded, and knew how to get a computer to do almost anything that he wanted it to. He could make spread-sheets work in ways that they had never been intended to, which made him quite useful when the numbers just did not add up. He really put those skills to the test this time, his fingers flying over the keyboard at top speed. The printer was soon spewing out data. Now came the hard part.

He picked up the pile of paper and carried them out of the computer-bank and into the small library where Doctor Ross did most of his work. It was fairly crowded today, and he grabbed the last free table. Laying the sheets out neatly in front of himself, he began eye-balling the data. Always a good place to start. He asked a passing intern for Personnel files on Agents Johansen and Frank, one of the other Agents to have recently turned on his partners. When she came back with the files, he asked her to kindly pull the files for Blayne and Thorne, Frank's partner and victim, as well.

He pushed aside the readouts for a moment to examine the files. To his surprise, he saw that not only had both Agents been under 'administrative supervision', but that he had signed the orders himself. Frowning, he leafed through the files to see why. When he saw it on paper, he quickly recalled when and why. It had been so routine that, at the time, he had thought nothing of it. Several months ago, Blayne had issued an order that all Agent's quarters were to be searched for contraband. When asked about pharmaceuticals, she had said that as long as they were legal in the present time, they were not his concern, but that he should 'keep an eye' on the Agents who such substances in their rooms.

He nodded slowly and read further only to confirm his own memory. Agent Frank: heroin. Agent Johansen: morphine. He sighed as the intern handed him the other files. Blayne: heroin. Although she did not keep it in her quarters, the criterion for supervision, she used it occasionally to treat her migraines, always going through proper channels and filling out all the appropriate paper-work. Except this time, apparently. He knew she had been using it; her behavior made that obvious. The slight tremor of her hand that he had attributed to stress, the slight slurring of her speech. Things he only noticed because he worked closely with her every day. She was clearly using heroin, but there was no note of it on her recent record.

He frowned and tried to piece the mystery together. Opiate drugs were a common denominator, but there was something else there, obviously, since Blayne was just fine. He picked up the files and walked over to Doctor Ross.

"We need to talk."

Doctor Ross looked up, surprised to hear Rizzo sounding so serious. "Sure. What is it?"

"In private, please. Your office."

Doctor Ross nodded and rose. He led Rizzo to his office and offered him a seat and a drink, both of which the young man gratefully accepted. "What can I do for you, Jack?"

"I think I've found something. I need access to the personnel files for all the Agents who have snapped and a random sampling of those who have not. For that, I need your computer."

"What do you think you've found?" Doctor Ross asked, typing his access code into his desk-top computer.

"Opiates." Rizzo told him. "Johansen and Frank were both on administrative supervision because of Opiate use."

"Good catch. We might never have caught that." Doctor Ross began typing. "Okay, I'm searching the files of the affected Agents for administrative supervision. We'll have to check manually for the reasons."

Rizzo nodded. "I think there's something else going on. I know that a lot of Agents use drugs, at least chip them, but-"

"Chip?"

Rizzo blinked. "Sorry. Recreational use. Chipping."

Doctor Ross smiled uncertainly. "Thank you for the education. I guess."

"Look, the point is, it can't just be the drugs. Blayne was taking heroin for her migraines during the same period as Johansen was taking morphine for his gun-shot wound. It's the same shit from the same base."

Doctor Ross continued typing. "So what are we missing?"

"Source!" Rizzo exclaimed suddenly. "That's gotta be, right?"

"Um…"

"No, man, think about it. If someone could get in and contaminate a supply of opium, that would contaminate all the heroin and morphine that came from that shipment."

"It's certainly an interesting theory. Where'd it come from?"

"Simple. Blayne. I know she's been using, 'cause she's got all the symptoms, but it's not in her records that she's been visiting the infirmary. Ergo, she's been buying it retail on the outside…" Rizzo sighed. "Can you check this theory out for me?"

"I'll page you when I have something."

"Thanks, man." Rizzo jumped from his seat and raced down the hallways to Blayne's office. 

She put away the bottle when she heard him coming, taking one last sip before doing so. She turned back to the paperwork. Without looking up, she asked, "Yes, Agent Rizzo?"

"I think I've got it!"

She looked up, mildly surprised. "By it, I assume you mean the answer and not the problem?"

He nodded hastily and climbed onto the table, sitting in front of her. "First, though, I need you to be straight with me on something."

"Okay…" Blayne put her pen down and stared curiously at him. "Go ahead…"

"I know you've been using heroin, Blayne. I just want to know who you're getting it from."

Blayne recoiled slightly, surprised. She made a quick decision. "From a local apothecary, or chemist, or whatever the hell they call those people these days. You know, a pharmacist."

Rizzo nodded. "Good."

"Why is it good that I'm getting under the table what I should be getting above the board?"

"Because it means you're okay."

"I beg your pardon."

Blayne's intercom buzzed. "Is Agent Rizzo there?" Doctor Ross asked.

"Here, man. Talk to me."

"You were right. 89% of the Agents who snapped had received doses of either heroin or morphine from the dispensary."

Blayne bit her lower lip and slid her shaking hands under the table. "Well done, Riz." she said quietly. "But it only explains our problem, not those of the other agencies."

He shook his head and pointed at her. "Wrong. Opium-derived drugs are one of out income sources. We supply agencies all over Europe."

"Do we supply the Ottomans?"

He nodded. "Yeah…"

"Well done. Find out what's going on and get back to me." She smiled after him as he left. "Oh, holy mother…" she breathed. "This is not good…"

She knew she should have told him, but she felt just fine, and could not afford to be taken off of active duty at a time like this. It was a chance she had to take, and she promised herself that if she began feeling even a little off, she would tell Rizzo the truth.

"After all, I feel just fine."

*****

Rebecca and Phileas stared at Blayne and Rizzo as they made their bizarre pronouncement. Rebecca spoke first, weakly. "You're telling me that this is your fault?"

"Well, not us specifically…" Rizzo grinned sheepishly.

"But someone within your Agency? Poisoning drugs that you ship out all over Europe?"

Rizzo nodded and smiled apologetically.

"Or it could be someone on the outside targeting us." Blayne noted. "The League of Darkness jumps immediately to mind, and to them the collateral damage to other intelligence agencies would be icing on the cake."

Jules spoke, hesitantly. "I… I don't understand." He became aware that everyone was staring at him. "Well, I don't! How could so many good Agents be using Opium? It's a killer, and it plays games with your head."

Blayne sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Rebecca, what did the Doctor give you after you were shot?"

"Um, morphine."

"Jean, what's in your world-famous sleeping potion?"

"Um, is being morphine… among other things." Passepartout admitted.

Rizzo nodded. "And what's in the patent medicines that people these days are taking for everything from insomnia to tooth-ache to headache to depression?"

"Heroin." Blayne snapped. "And both are derived from opium, Jules. Do you get it now?" She stared apologetically at him.

He nodded slowly. "I guess so, yeah." 

Rizzo spoke up quickly. "We need to go to Egypt. We need to figure out what's going on, and we need to do it fast. We supply half the intelligence agencies in Europe."

"With contaminated drugs?" Phileas demanded of him angrily.

Blayne placed herself between the two men. "It sure as hell looks that way, Fogg."

Rizzo held up his hand and peered around Blayne. "Where did Rebecca get her morphine from?"

"From my personal physician." Phileas stared at him. "What are you implying?"

"Is he affiliated with the British Secret Service?"

"Most certainly not."

"That's good." Rizzo said. "Very good."

"Yes it is." Blayne agreed. "Now, less arguing, more planning."

*****

Phileas waited quietly outside of Sir Jonathan's office. When he was led inside, he managed not to break the officious bureaucrat's nose, which was really quite an accomplishment under the circumstances.

Sir Jonathan looked up nervously. "Ah, Mister Fogg. What can I do for you today?"

"I trust you've heard the rumors?"

"That Miss Fogg has somehow managed to make her way back to England. Yes, most remarkable, I must say."

Phileas clenched his fists, but attempted a smile. It came out somewhere between a sneer and a snarl. "Yes, most remarkable, given the… circumstances."

"Surely you can't blame--"

"At present, it does not matter who the blame lies with. All that matters is that Rebecca is quite unwell and shall need some time off."

"Of course."

"I am taking her to Shillingsworth so that she may recover in peace." Phileas managed an actual smile this time, which Sir Jonathan found more intimidating than the previous expression. "I trust you have no objections?"

"No, of course not." Sir Jonathan said hastily. "Take all the time you need, of course."

"So kind of you." Phileas said evenly. "Good day."

Sir Jonathan heaved a sigh of relief as Phileas left. That man was highly unstable. He could not believe that he had ever made a proper intelligence agent. Which just went to show how destructive nepotism could be. And to think, Fogg had almost gotten away with his job. Sir Jonathan shook his head and returned to his work.

*****

Blayne met Phileas in the front hall of his home. "Did he buy it?" she asked eagerly.

"He certainly seemed to." Phileas nodded. "Or perhaps he was simply relieved that I did not give him a first-hand demonstration of what his callousness did to Rebecca." He smiled bitterly.

"Well, if you ever decide to, invite me along. I'll hold his sorry ass down for you."

"Much appreciated."

"My pleasure."

"Shall we be off then?"

Blayne nodded. "Rebecca's already aboard and sounds asleep. The others are just waiting for you."

"How is she?"

"Recovering. Slowly." Blayne sighed. "She's strong, she'll get there."

"I don't like bringing her along."

"I don't like leaving her alone. I've friends who will take care of her while we are… otherwise occupied."

"So long as she is safely out of the cross-fire."

Blayne smiled reassuringly. "If all goes well, Fogg, there won't be any cross-fire."

As they walked towards the Aurora, Fogg asked, "Well, where's the fun in that?" 


	5. Chapter 5

****

Chapter 5-The Egyptian Connection

Despite his anticipation of things to come, Phileas felt oddly calm during the first few days aboard the Aurora on the trip to Egypt. Many years ago, Blayne had referred to the emotion as 'the calm before the storm'. The storm, she had gone on to say, broke the moment he could get his hands on a few sticks of dynamite and a bad guy. As it was, he spent the energy that most men would have wasted on purposeless worry and channeled it into a very constructive activity.

"You're letting your guard down again, Jules." Phileas shook his head and brushed the flat of his blade against the young man's face in an almost affectionate gesture.

Jules responded by giving his own sword a quick twist, which sent Phileas's flying. "Really?" he asked casually, smiling.

Rebecca and Rizzo, who had been watching the lesson, laughed. Rebecca winced.

"Blayne told you that you shouldn't be up yet." Rizzo said softly. 

"I am not remaining in that bed for the rest of my life!" Rebecca hissed in reply.

Rizzo shook his head. Four days since her rescue and she was already getting cabin-sick. Typical! She was so much like Blayne at times that he found it hard to believe that they were generations, and perhaps families, apart.

Rebecca reclined on a chaise that had been brought aboard the Aurora for her specific use. Rizzo and Passepartout obligingly moved it wherever her mood took them, more to keep her from trying to move it herself than anything. She smiled as Phileas, bending to retrieve his sword, gave her a worried glance. She waved and pulled her blanket to her chin.

"The boy's learning." Phileas noted to no one in particular. He straightened up and gave Jules a curious stare as he realized that the particular maneuver which had disarmed him was not one of his own. "Though not from me..."

Rizzo bent innocently over his guitar, strumming a soothing lullaby. When Phileas turned to stare at him, he smiled blankly. "Yes?"

Phileas started to speak, then shook his head. "Never mind... Where is Blayne?"

"Climbing the rigging again, probably." Rizzo returned his attention to the guitar strings. "I think Jean is with her." he added softly.

Phileas started quickly towards the stairs to the observation deck, nearly knocking over Passepartout as he entered with a tray of tea. "I is thinking everyone, but especially Miss Rebecca, is to be needing a cup of tea." he announced cheerfully, ignoring the near-collision. He looked around. "But where is Miss Brenna?"

Phileas stared hard at Rizzo who smiled innocently back. Passepartout interposed himself between the two as he handed out cups of tea. To Rebecca's, he added a special ingredient, guaranteed to make her rest as Blayne had ordered. Judging from her slight grimace at the first sip, she must have noticed, but she pretended not to and thanked Passepartout politely. When he was sure that she did indeed intend to drink it, he returned the tray to the galley, then headed up to the observation deck.

Blayne was nowhere to be seen, so he stripped off his vest and folded it neatly before grabbing onto the nearest rope and pulling himself onto the guardrail. He looked down at the landscape, hundreds of feet beneath the Aurora, then up at the balloon, held in place by an elaborate network of ropes. What was good for the goose, he reasoned, jumping to catch hold of the lowest rope in the network, could certainly not be of much harm to the gander. Unless his Master caught him at it. 

He ascended quickly and found Blayne sitting cross-legged on the very top of the balloon, resting after her climb.

"You is being out of shape!" Passepartout chastised, grinning up at her. "Needing rest after such small climb!" He pulled himself the rest of the way up, accepting her helping hand to the top.

She grinned at him. "How's Rebecca?"

"I is giving her tea with-" he hesitated.

"'Warm milk'?" Blayne smiled. "I see you've finally learned how to control the Fogg family, Jean. Congratulations."

He beamed at her. "She rest now, but being Fogg, is not easy to keep her resting."

"I don't suppose reasoning with her would help."

"I is doubting this very much."

Blayne smiled. "Still keeping up your Yoga?" she asked absently, laying on her back and staring upwards.

"Exactly as you is teaching it to me. But... is hard to be doing some forms with only one." He stretched out next to her.

She smiled over at him. "We'll work together on it tomorrow morning."

He grinned back at her. "You is feeling better than you was, I is thinking."

She nodded gently. "It's comforting to see Rebecca grow stronger and Phileas grow calmer." She sighed and stared out at the clouds. "What does that one look like, to you?" she asked, pointing to a storm-head.

"Is looking sinister to me." Passepartout stuck his finger in his mouth and held it above his head, testing the wind. "But is not coming this way."

She nodded again and watched it pass away. A random snatch of poetry filled her head, but slipped away before she could remember what it was from or how the rest went. "Todo pasa y todo queda, pero..." She sighed and trailed off. "How's the rest go?"

"I is not knowing." He shrugged. "I is not knowing you is liking Spanish poetry."

"A girl's got to keep her mind occupied on long and lonely nights." She sighed and rolled onto her stomach. "We should go back. It's almost time for dinner."

Passepartout looked alarmed as he realized how much time had slipped away. "Master will be furious."

"Don't worry. I'll show you how to make something that takes about ten minutes." She playfully punched his shoulder. "Race you down."

He smiled and wordlessly began making his way down the rigging, a few feet behind her. His early years as an acrobat and his continued physical fitness regime made this a simple exercise for him, but Blayne managed it almost twice as quickly as he did. She was waiting for him in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl.

"Start slicing that bread. Slices about this thick." She held her fingers a few centimeters apart before returning her attention to the eggs. "We have bacon? Syrup?"

"We is having both." He abandoned the carving knife to retrieve a side of bacon. "Syrup is being over your head."

She reached up and pulled down a brown jug. She uncorked it and sniffed it, nodding her approval. "Maple. Where'd you come by this?"

"Canada."

"Oh." She sloshed some milk into the bowl with the eggs. "Cinnamon?" She looked up. "No, don't slice it like that. Long-ways..."

*****

"What did you say this is called again, Passepartout?" Phileas asked, helping himself to a third serving.

"Is being called 'french toast', Master."

Jules frowned thoughtfully. He enjoyed it immensely, but he had certainly never tasted anything like it in France before. Blayne, who, true to form, had finished eating within a few minutes, returned to the table long enough to grab another piece of bacon. She stuffed it into her mouth in a most unladylike fashion before walking to the steering-wheel to check their course. As she reached out to touch the wheel, she noticed a slight tremor in her left hand.

She walked past the table and headed towards the stairs. "Good-night, everybody." she called over her shoulder.

Passepartout looked up, alarmed. "But are you not wishing for dessert? Or after-dinner brandy?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm beat. All this relaxation has taken a lot out of me." She waved cheerily and headed up to Rebecca's room. 

She left a candle burning so that the others could get Rebecca into bed without any trouble, then changed into a long flannel nightshirt. She would have preferred shorts and a sports-bra, but settled for the nightshirt, muttering to herself as she slipped it on. She held up the undergarments that were supposed to go under the shirt and shook her head emphatically, shoving them under the bed. The flannel was hot enough without thermal undies. Her head was beginning to throb again, so she helped herself to a few spoons full of patent medicine before crawling between the covers. 

She did not even stir when Phileas and Passepartout put Rebecca to bed.

Some time later, she woke in a cold sweat, gripping her sheet so hard that her knuckles were turning white. She listened for the last echo of the gunshot that her mind was still convinced it had heard. Shaking, she lit a candle, half expecting to see the sheets drenched in blood, fully expecting herself to he similarly soaked. Next to her, Rebecca stirred slightly in her sleep.

Blayne rose swiftly to avoid disturbing her. She set the candle down and rearranged the blankets around Rebecca so that she would not get cold. Her fingers lingered on Rebecca's throat. She was faintly comforted by the strong pulse she felt. Sighing, she took the candle and crept from the room. She could even remember any more what about the dream had so disturbed her, but she felt compelled to check on the safety of each of her friends. Fogg rolled over when she opened his door, but did not wake. Rizzo was snoring at roughly the volume of a jackhammer and Jules, laying beside him, somehow managed to sleep through it. Shaking her head, she left the room silently. Not that it would have mattered. She could have dropped a tea service and not manage to make herself heard over Rizzo's snoring.

She hesitated outside of Passepartout's door, not hearing his gentle snore. The flame of the candle danced as her hand shook. She gently tapped on the door, more than a little worried. It immediately slid open and Passepartout smiled out at her. He peered cautiously back and forth down the corridor before inviting her in.

"Is you well, Bren?"

She nodded weakly. "I had a bad dream is all."

"What was it being about?"

"I really don't remember anymore." She shook her head. "I just wanted to check on everyone. I'm sorry to wake you."

"You is not waking Jean." he assured her. He drew her farther into the room and slid the door shut. "I is thinking that you is needing someone to be talking to." He patted the edge of his bed, the only uncluttered surface in the small room, inviting her to sit.

She sighed and blew out the candle. She did not need it since his room was still fully lit. She sat down, and he sat down next to her, eyeing her with concern.

"I'm sorry, Jean, really. I don't even know..."

"Shh..." He pressed a finger to her lip. "Is being what friends are for. Make dark nights pass faster."

She leaned over and hugged him. "I don't know why, Jean, I just feel so alone right now..."

"You is never alone while me and Master Jules and Master Phileas and Miss Rebecca and Agent Rizzo are all being alive."

"But I feel--"

He hushed her again and gently leaned back, still holding her close. He caught her legs with one of his and deftly swung them onto the bed. She stared at him in surprise as he pulled her down onto the bed. She noticed that in ten years, he had lost none of his early musculature. If anything, he seemed to have gained muscle as he aged. His smell was a unique one. A mixture of laboratory chemicals, kitchen smells, and what she could have sworn was baby powder. His strong hands massaged the tension from her neck.

"Jean..." she began slowly. He hushed her and kissed the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. It had, after all, been a very long time. 

"You no worry, Bren. Jean is still being gentleman. But he is also thinking that you is needing many good hugs. You is resting now, and I is keeping bad dreams away. Look, I is practicing my viscous face." He bared his teeth and growled. It sounded more like a purr.

She laughed and curled up against him. "I'm sure you'll do a very good job of keeping the bad dreams away." she whispered as he made himself comfortable against her.

Anyone looking in would have taken them for a pair of lovers, and for all the deep affection and loyalty that the two shared, they might have been under different circumstances. Circumstances being what they were, however, they had to settle for this. Neither would have called the arrangement unsatisfactory per se, and though many would have found it awkward, both were quite happy with affairs as they stood.

*****

"I see you're still keep up on your yoga." Blayne said softly from the bed with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Is still being early. You should sleep more."

"I'm fine, Jean." She climbed out of the bed and sat on the floor opposite him. "Mind if I join you?"

"You is always being welcomed to join me. In anything." He grinned at her.

Blayne considered this, biting the inside of her cheek. "Jean, I'm just going to pretend that you didn't say that. Okay?"

"Is being your choice. Offer remains."

Blayne sighed and turned her attention into twisting herself into knots.

"You is seeming upset." Passepartout noted after their workout. He helped her to her feet. "What is troubling to you?"

"Um… I'm just thinking about things. You know how it is."

"You is merely needing things to keep mind occupied. Like me."

"Probably." She smiled. "Need help with breakfast?"

He smiled brightly. "Would be much appreciated."

"Great! Let's go." 

"You should be putting on more clothings first."

She looked down at herself. "Oh, right. Guess I am a little preoccupied after all." 

She slid the door open cautiously and peered into the hallway. Seeing no one, she stepped out. And nearly ran into Jules as he came around the corner. He stared at her, wide-eyed. His gaze slid past her to Passepartout's rapidly closing door. His mouth moved soundlessly.

Blayne sighed. "It's not what you think." she said flatly, pushing past him.

Jules stared after her in surprise. "Good-morning…" 

*****

"I mean, it's all well and good to say that we'll go in, find the source of the problem, and fix it--" Rebecca noted from her couch during breakfast. "But is there an actual plan at all?"

Blayne sighed and shoved a half-slice of french toast into her mouth to give herself time to think. Phileas stared at the two women and decided that it was time to change the subject. "What do you call this again, Passepartout."

"Is being called… French Roast."

Rizzo sprayed coffee out of his nose. "Toast!" he gasped, unfolding his napkin. "French Toast." He shook his head. "Jean, my man, you crack me up. You should be on--"

Blayne swallowed quickly, scowling at Rizzo. "Of course there's a plan, Rebecca. We go into the first League stronghold we find, guns drawn and beat the answers we want out of the Count." 

Rebecca stared at her. "That's a joke, right?"

"Well, if it is, it's not in very good taste." Phileas noted.

Blayne shrugged. 

"Agent Rizzo's good with plans." Rebecca noted. "Why don't you come up with one, Jack?" 

He grinned at her. "Why, thank-you, Miss Rebecca."

"My pleasure." Rebecca grinned back, enjoying the subtle flattery in his cock-eyed glance.

Blayne and Phileas scowled at the two. Blayne cleared her throat. "The plan, Riz?"

"Oh, right… Well… As much as I'd enjoy kicking the Count's shiny metal--"

"Rizzo!"

"Can, I really think that in a case like this one discretion might be the better part of valor." 

"As much as I'm inclined to agree with Rizzo about… um… kicking Count Gregory's… can," Phileas began slowly, "I agree even more that going in with our guns blazing might not be the best way to handle this."

Rebecca half-sat up. "Phileas? Are you feeling quite well?"

He smirked at her. "I see you're feeling much better."

Rebecca smiled back. "Quite. And I, for one, do want to go in with my gun drawn."

"You're not going in at all." Blayne replied before Phileas could. 

"I beg your pardon?" Rebecca stared at her. She folded her arms over her chest and winced. "Ah, yes, I see." she grunted, pushing her breakfast tray aside and cautiously sipping the coffee that Blayne had insisted she drink instead of tea. 

"Don't worry, Rebecca." Rizzo winked at her. "We'll have plenty of fun here while they're out there getting themselves shot at."

"Note to self: bring Jack." Blayne muttered. "Gentlemen, if you don't think we should play this straight, how do you think it should go down?"

Phileas stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. Rizzo cleared his throat. "Subtlety, Blayne, is the cardinal virtue in this profession. We don't even know yet what's going on, and you're ready to link it to the League, storm the monastery, and not take hostages. I like that plan. Hell, I love that plan, Blayne, but it's not going to accomplish anything." He looked around the table. "A little help here?"

"Agent Rizzo is right." Phileas said softly. "First things first. We must determine exactly what is going on here before we can successfully formulate a plan to stop it." He glanced apologetically at Blayne. "I think it's safe to say that we all believe that the League of Darkness is behind this, but that doesn't make it so."

"Fine." Blayne helped herself to another plate-full of french toast, bacon, and eggs. She began shoveling food into her mouth, ignoring the others.

"Are you angry?" Jules asked.

"Just irrational, Monsieur Verne. Agents Fogg and Rizzo are, of course, right. I'm just accustomed to… handling things… differently." She crunched thoughtfully on a slice of bacon for a moment. "Show of hands. Who wants to handle this as Agents Fogg and Rizzo suggest. Rebecca, Jean, you too." 

Blayne's hand was in the air even before Rizzo's. Phileas put his hand up at a more laconic pace. Jules looked apologetically at Blayne and put his own hand up. Rebecca's followed more slowly. Passepartout squeezed Blayne's shoulder, but did not put his hand up.

Phileas stared curiously at him. "You have a different plan?"

He shook his head. "I is doing whatever you is agreeing upon. Is not place of valet to vote in such matters."

Blayne rubbed her forehead. "No one will think any less of you, Jean, one way or another."

"I is doing what you is saying." he repeated insistently. This time, it was less clear if he was speaking of the group, or of Phileas or Blayne alone. 

"Then I guess it's settled." Blayne said quietly. "Jean, there is a mansion just outside of Alexandria, by the river. It's easy to recognize. There is a symbol engraved on the roof, a pyramid with an eye set above it. Land in the courtyard there. We will receive all the help we could want there. They may already know more than we do."

Passepartout glanced at Phileas for permission before nodding to Blayne. "Where outside of city? East or west or south or north?"

"North and east. Avoid flying over the city."

"In fact, avoid flying near any inhabited areas." Rizzo suggested softly. "We shouldn't signal our presence to anyone."

"Agreed." Rebecca said.

Phileas nodded. "In fact, let's increase our altitude, just to be sure."

Passepartout nodded and rose hastily, heading for the deck.

"It's odd…" Jules noted, thoughtfully, staring at his plate.

"What is?" Blayne asked, frowning.

"This. Passepartout called it french toast, but I've lived in France my whole life and never had anything like it." He shrugged and took another bite.

Blayne covered her mouth with her napkin and Rizzo carefully examined a piece of lint on his lapel. "Maybe it's regional…" he suggested softly, winking at Blayne.

*****

Jules was not entirely sure what kind of welcome to expect when they landed in the courtyard of the large compound. Blayne's group obviously guarded its privacy jealously, and he was not sure that dropping in unannounced, especially given current tensions, was wise. He was more than a little relieved when an old man hurried into the courtyard and greeted them politely. As the old man showed them through the suite of rooms that they were to occupy, it became apparent to Jules that they were expected.

"Thank you for receiving us on such short notice, Doctor Ramsey." Blayne said as he led them to the large room set aside for Jules, Phileas, and Passepartout. 

The man smiled up at her. "Always a pleasure to receive you, my dear."

"Any word yet?"

"Wouldn't you rather refresh yourselves first?" he asked, surprised. "I've had the servants draw baths for each of you."

"The facilities on the Aurora were more than adequate, Doctor. Business first, today."

"Of course. Is your lady-friend quite well? She looks peaked."

"She was badly injured recently. She shouldn't be up." Blayne stared pointedly at Rebecca as she spoke.

"Well, why didn't you say so. I'll see if we can't dig up a sedan-chair. In the mean-time, the sitting room is this way." He offered Rebecca his arm and led the way.

"Are you British, sir?" Phileas asked.

"Ah, indeed I am, sir, though I haven't been home for many years now. This way, my dear." He led Rebecca to a couch. "Please, have a seat. I'll get cool drinks and then we can talk."

"A good idea." Blayne said, walking over to a liquor cabinet. As he left, she started to pour Phileas a brandy. "Or would you prefer scotch?" she asked.

"No civilized man drinks his scotch without ice." Phileas noted. "And I can't see ice being too common in these parts."

"Guess again." Blayne grinned at him as Doctor Ramsey walked in with a tray. He had glasses, a carafe of some pale liquid, and a container full of ice. She poured Phileas a glass of scotch before sitting down and pulling out her flask. "You'll like this, Monsieur Verne. It's made of… ah, Ramsey, what is it made of, again?"

"All manner of different fruits." He poured everyone a glass. "Now, to the business at hand."

Blayne sighed and nodded, taking a long pull from her flask. "Anything yet?"

"Rather a lot, actually. I assume that your friends are all… properly cleared?"

"I've cleared them myself." Blayne informed him. "Please proceed."

He nodded. "That's not too cold for you, my dear?" he asked Rebecca politely.

"You remind him of his daughter." Rizzo whispered to her.

She smiled at him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"You're stalling, Doctor." Blayne noted. "On with it."

"Of course." He nodded. "You know that all of the Agents had traces of opiates in their systems?"

"Would we be here otherwise?"

"Of course not." He sighed. "Well, we've also found traces of another drug."

She frowned. "What kind of other drug?"

"Well, we don't exactly have a name for it. It's synthetic, we think. Alone, it leads to irritability and insomnia."

"These are minor effects." Blayne pointed out. "That's not enough to explain what we're seeing."

He sighed. "When combined with opiates, they lead to… other symptoms."

"Like?" Blayne demanded.

"Disorientation, mood swings… hallucinations. It's really quite a nice solution. Alone, harmless and undetectable. Combined with opiates--"

"Shit!" Blayne slammed her flask onto the table. When she spoke again, her voice was slow and measured. "Where… is… it… coming… from?" 

"Um… we think it was mixed into one of our opium crops about a year ago."

Rizzo sighed. "And then unwittingly disseminated to most of the other intelligence agencies in Europe."

Ramsey nodded apologetically. 

"Um, I'm confused." Jules admitted. "Why is your Agency distributing drugs?"

"Because, Monsieur Verne," Ramsey said softly, "the truth is that you can never be sure of the drugs that come out of the East."

"I don't--"

"They aren't always safe, Jules." Rizzo explained gently. "Or clean."

"Clean?" Phileas asked.

"Uncontaminated."

"Unlike the drugs you've been supplying the British Secret Service with." Rebecca snapped.

"Rebecca!" Phileas hissed. "Please. Obviously someone is contaminating these drugs to sow the seeds of unrest."

"Gee, I wonder who could be behind that?" Blayne grumbled, sipping from her flask. Her head was beginning to hurt quite unbearably. 

"Is actually being good question." Passepartout noted quietly.

Everyone stared at him. "You don't think it's the League?" Jules asked, now feeling hopelessly confused. 

"Is quite probably being League, but who is doing it?"

"Shit…" Blayne muttered quietly.

"What?" Jules asked, frowning.

"Jean's right. It's got to be an inside job. No one on the outside could get so close to the supply." She raised the flask again, only to have it lightly removed from her hands by Phileas.

As she glared at him, he advised softly. "In the future, were I you, Agent Blayne, I would stick religiously to absinthe."

"Okay, let's handle this one issue at a time." Rizzo said softly. "First things first."

"Right. Find me the traitor so I can skin him alive." Blayne muttered, sipping her juice.

"How about keeping any more of the contaminated drugs from getting out?" Rizzo advised. "Do you know how long that shit keeps? It'll could in our warehouses for another five years."

Blayne nodded. "Doctor, I want you to assemble a team. Stop all outgoing shipments and find the contaminated batches." He nodded and hurried out. "Rizzo, I want you to start poring over files. Find out who's trusted enough and who's high enough up the hierarchy to actually be able to do this." 

"Right. Anything else?"

"Actually, yeah. I think you should take Rebecca to her room to rest. You should all rest, actually. Jules, Jean, you too."

"We aren't tired." Jules protested.

"Then explore. Stay out of locked rooms and you should be fine." Blayne smiled and waved them off. "Phileas?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something important."

"Of course."

"Rebecca's physician, your physician, gave her morphine."

"Yes…" he said slowly, frowning. 

"You know him well? Is he your personal physician?"

"Yes, I retained his services when I…" He closed his eyes. "I retained his services when I worked for the British Secret Service."

"Then he works for them, too?"

Phileas nodded weakly.

"And gets his supplies from them?"

Another weak nod. 

"They get their morphine from us, Phileas." Blayne muttered. "You'll… want to keep a close eye on her until I can send a doctor by to get a blood-sample."

He nodded and turned to leave, then paused. "What about you, Blayne?"

"What about me?"

"Where do you get yours from?"

"A private chemist in London. Go look after your cousin."

He nodded and left at a run.


	6. Chapter 6

****

Chapter 6-Truth and Consequences

"Hey, Blayne!" Rizzo yelled, half-jogging down the hallway to catch up to her. "Can we talk? Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Jack." She smiled, concerned. "What's up? Hey! Sorry to interrupt. Do you know if Dmitri is still in this time? I'd like him to help you on this."

"I'm not sure." Rizzo looked around. "Look, there's something we really need to talk about."

"Sure. What's up?" She looked up expectantly. 

"Um, it's about Johansen."

Blayne raised an eyebrow. "What about him, Rizzo?"

"Um… He… he was on Administrative Supervision when the attack occurred."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why'd you send him along on that last assignment if his actions were suspect?" she demanded of him.

"Um, you'd requested him. You had access to his file, it never occurred to me that you might not have known until afterwards."

"So why keep it from me then? Huh? What were you thinking?"

"You had a lot of other crap on your mind. We all did. If I'd known then about the heroin--"

"Heroin?" she shouted. "God damn it, Rizzo! You had no right not to tell me that he was--"

"If I'd thought he was a risk, I would have--" Rizzo interjected.

"Don't you even try to justify this to me!" Blayne shouted, shoving him. Caught unprepared, he fell to the floor. "You son of a bitch!"

Rizzo picked himself up with a sigh. This had to be unthinkably hard on her. "I know. It's hard. He was your friend. I know what you're going through…"

"You have no idea what I'm going through!" she shrieked, swinging at him.

Startled, Rizzo took a step backwards. "Blayne, take a deep breath, count to ten, and-- Jesus!" he jumped backwards as her gun appeared in her hand. "Blayne! Put that damned thing away before someone sees you!" He laughed uneasily and took a cautious step forward. "Come on, baby…"

"It's been you all along, hasn't it?" she demanded, leveling her gun at his chest. "I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?"

"You're not thinking clearly, Blayne. You need to put the gun down and just think about what you're doing…"

"Shut up!" She pulled the hammer back on her pistol and tipped it slightly to the left, squinting her right eye and aiming, as she had been taught, at center mass.

"Christ…" Rizzo muttered, realizing that he had left his revolver on the Aurora. He took a slow step backwards, arm held out and slightly up. "Blayne, you want to think very carefully about the next move you make."

"Is that a threat?" she sneered, shoving the barrel of her gun into his chest. 

Rizzo stared down at it and smiled nervously. "Just… one question before you, ah… pop me." 

"Shoot…" She smiled malevolently. 

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" She gave her head a little shake, confused by the question.

"When were you going to tell me that you'd gotten into the bad drugs? How long have you known?"

"Wh--"

Rizzo lunged forward, catching her elbow and her wrist in his hands and slamming his knee into her forearm, causing her to drop the gun with a cry. He spun her around and pulled her against him, squeezing his elbow against her neck and shouting for help.

"I'll kill you! You son of a bitch!"

"Don't make me knock you out, Blayne." he hissed in her ear. "You know I can do it." 

She clawed at his forearm, struggling in his grip and shouting loudly. She went suddenly limp.

"Jesus!" Rizzo gasped, afraid he had applied too much pressure to her throat. 

He loosened his grip slightly, and got an elbow in his ribs for his concern. Gasping and cursing, he wrapped his leg around Blayne's legs and swept her feet out from under her, knocking them both to the floor. He landed on top of her, knocking the air from her lungs. She struggled and squirmed beneath him, thought she did not seem to be trying as hard to get up. He realized in horror that he had dropped her on her gun a split-second before she placed the muzzle to his temple.

"So this is how it ends?" He slid off of her slowly. "It's been nice, Blayne. I don't suppose I could have a little kiss before you kill me?"

She blinked, obviously surprised by the request. Her face hardened into a scowl as she prepared to fire. Rizzo slammed the crown of his head into her forehead. She cursed as blood streamed into her eyes, blinding her. Rizzo cursed. He had been trying to knock her out. Not one to waste an advantage, he wrestled the gun out of her hand and threw it across the hall. It skittered to a stop at Passepartout's feet as he and Jules turned a corner. He stared down at it, momentarily confused, then saw Rizzo and Blayne struggling. He picked up the gun and crossed the hallway swiftly. As Jules looked on in amazement, he slammed it into the base of Blayne's skull, sending her slumping to the floor.

Rizzo sat on the floor panting. "Damn, that shit's worse the PCP." He looked up at Passepartout. "How'd you know which one of us was--"

"Doctor Ramsey is saying mood swings and insomnia. Blayne is having both, and you is snoring so loud last night that was hard for Jean to sleep." Passepartout gently rolled Blayne onto her back and looked up at Rizzo. "You is bleeding."

"I think it's all hers."

He shook his head firmly. "You is bad liar. And you is not being able to see yourself. Is bad or not so bad?"

"I think I'll survive." Rizzo said softly. He looked down at Blayne. "But she may not."

"What?" Jules demanded.

"All the other affected Agents have killed themselves immediately after attacking their partners." Rizzo sighed and felt Blayne's throat for a pulse. "We should restrain her, I think. Monsieur Passepartout, can you carry her?"

He nodded and gently picked her up. "Master Jules, you is helping Agent Rizzo to be walking."

Jules slid an arm under Rizzo's shoulder. "Thanks, man…" he muttered, leaning against Jules. "Um, the infirmary is down the stairs."

*****

"Rebecca!" Phileas gasped, trying to unwrap her fingers from his throat. "You are going to hurt yourself!"

"No, I'm going to hurt you!" Rebecca hissed, digging her fingernails into his throat hard enough to draw blood.

Struggling to defend himself without hurting his already injured cousin, Phileas found himself wondering whether she would suffocate him or slash his jugular first. Where was she finding this strength? There was no way that she should be this strong, and even less way that she should have been able to keep up this level of exertion for so long. 

He managed to hook his index and middle fingers under her hands, buying himself some more air. "Listen to me, Rebecca!" he gasped. "You are not well. You are going to hurt yourself. Fight this, Rebecca! Fight!"

Rebecca snarled and sunk her teeth into his wrist. 

"Ah! Fight Rebecca!" He closed his eyes and backhanded her. "Damn it all, Rebecca, I need you! I need you to fight. I need you to be the strong one."

"I'll kill you!" Rebecca hissed, tightening her grip.

"Forgive me." Phileas sighed and smashed his head into hers. Rebecca went limp. "My Lord…" he sighed, sliding away and touching his throat. "'We need to talk, Phileas. Come closer, Phileas'" He sighed and checked her pulse. "You, my dear, are going to be fine…" he assured his unconscious cousin, rising. "Now, I wonder where one finds a physician around here…"

*****

"You is sure bonds is not being to tight?" Passepartout repeated as Rizzo injected Blayne with a sedative.

"For the fifth time, yes!" Rizzo sighed. "Um, I need you in the lab." He looked at Jules. "Will you stay with her?"

"What do I do if she wakes up?"

"Talk to her. Tell her it's going to be okay." Rizzo smiled reassuringly, but his eyes were sad.

Jules nodded weakly and placed a chair next to the bed where Blayne was bound. "I'll take good care of her."

"I know you will. I wouldn't leave you with her if I doubted it. Take care, man."

Jules nodded and waved weakly as they left.

"Master Jules is being good in lab, too, Agent Rizzo." Passepartout pointed out.

"Not as good as you. And he's… not fully informed."

"I is seeing." Passepartout nodded knowingly. "Is being… special lab?"

"The best." Rizzo nodded. "If there's a cure to be had for this, we'll find it down here."

*****

Jules looked up as two people carried a stretcher into the infirmary. One of them was a young woman. The other was Phileas. Rebecca was unconscious on the stretcher and was crudely restrained with a pair of leather belts.

"Not her, too…" both men sighed. 

Phileas nodded weakly and helped transfer Rebecca onto the bed next to Blayne's. He undid the belt around her arms as the young woman unstrapped her legs. They gently secured Rebecca using the bed's built-in restraints. 

"Your throat is bleeding." Jules noted quietly. "Rebecca?"

Phileas sighed and nodded, cover one of her hands with his. "I think when she looked at me… I think she saw Count Gregory."

"Oh, God." Jules struggled to keep the tears from flowing.

"I notice that you, however, seem remarkably unscathed." Phileas noted dryly.

"She attacked Agent Rizzo. He's… more hurt than I think he wants to admit."

Phileas sighed and nodded. "I was wrong about him." he muttered. 

"What?"

"Nothing. Was Passepartout hurt?"

Jules shook his head. "Is Rebecca hurt?"

"I'm not sure. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but…"

"I know…" 

Jules sighed. He had seen it in Rizzo's eyes, too. Attacked by someone you care about and knowing that you'll probably have to choose between her life and your own. The choice was a hard one, and there was a question as to whether, having chosen your own life, you could continue to live with yourself once you had saved it.

*****

"Agent Rizzo, you is being chemical wizard." Passepartout noted as Rizzo pulled a beaker out of the centrifuge. 

"Jack. You saved my life, I think you can call me by my Christian name now."

"But Agent Blayne is saving your life many times and is still calling you Rizzo."

"Um, that's different. We're… complicated."

"She is being complicated one." Passepartout suggested gently.

He sighed and nodded. "Um, give me another blood-sample." 

Passepartout handed him a test-tube. "What is this machine be doing?" he asked, touching the gas chromatograph. 

"Don't mess with that." Rizzo suggested. "And don't try to take it apart. They're a bitch to put back together."

"You is sounding like is knowing from experience."

Rizzo shrugged and prepared a slide. He stared at it through the microscope. "Hey…" He frowned and looked again. "Look at that and tell me what you see." He prepared a sample of the blood for the chromatograph. 

"Is looking normal. This is new." 

Rizzo nodded. "Doctor Ramsey!"

"Yes, Agent Rizzo?" He hurried over.

"Check this out." He placed the sample into the chromatograph. 

Ramsey stared into the microscope and then examined the chromatograph readout. "Negative."

"Great. Start synthesizing it, man." Rizzo smacked his arm and grabbed Passepartout, pulling him towards the door. "Let's get up to the infirmary…"

*****

"Are you sure?" Phileas asked, eyeing the needle in Rizzo's hand uncertainly.

"Relatively sure." Rizzo said. "We won't be positive until we test it on a human subject."

Phileas sighed. "We wait to inject Rebecca until we know how it affects Blayne." he announced finally.

Rizzo stared at him for a moment before nodding. "That's probably wise. Rebecca is too weak to take chances with. Blayne's stronger. She's a survivor."

Phileas sighed and sat down, squeezing Rebecca's hand when Rizzo injected Blayne. Rebecca's hand wriggled out of his grasp. 

"Rebecca?" Phileas gasped, bending over her.

"Phileas!" she sobbed. "It hurts! Please let me die…"

"Never!" Phileas snapped, shaking his head. He caressed her forehead. "You are going to be just fine…" he assured her. "They've found a cure."

She shook her head, still sobbing. "I'm never going to get better…"

In her bed, Blayne's body jerked upward, straining against her straps. 

"She's fighting it?" Jules gasped.

"She's convulsing." Rizzo corrected him, struggling to hold Blayne down. "I don't think this shit's agreeing with her. Doctor!"

"Oh my Lord…" Phileas sighed and covered his face with his hands. Rebecca continued crying. "We can't do this to her, Agent Rizzo."

Rizzo stepped aside to let the doctors work on Blayne. "I know." He nodded weakly and found a chair. After a few minutes, the doctors left. Blayne lay still. Rizzo buried his face in his hands, and Passepartout started for the door. Jules put his hand on his shoulder and followed.

"Oh… my… gods…" Blayne groaned weakly.

Everyone looked up. Rizzo jumped to his feet. "Bren?" 

"I feel… like shit!" Blayne groaned. "The inside of my mouth tastes like a sewer. My head hurts. My back hurts. My bloody hair hurts!" She fell silent, panting from exertion.

"I guess she's feeling better." Phileas noted.

Rizzo stared down at her. "How are you feeling?"

She stared up at him. "Did I not say that out loud?"

He grinned. "Are you feeling suicidal at all?"

"Why in the name of the gods…" Her eyes grew wide as she saw his swollen and bruised face and the stitches on his forehead. "Did I do that to you?"

He nodded slowly. "But you're feeling better, right?"

She nodded experimentally. "Actually, I feel like I'm dying. But I think I can live with that…" She tried to raise her arms. "Can you unstrap me now?"

"I think we'd better wait just a little while."

"Not funny, Riz!" she snapped. "Come on!"

Rizzo smiled apologetically and shrugged. "No."

"Jack!" she demanded. "Come on."

"Hey, you didn't even threaten me." He smiled and unstrapped her arms. "You must be feeling like crap."

She sat up slowly. Rizzo and Passepartout reached out to hold her up. "I'm dizzy."

"Yeah." Rizzo nodded. "I'm afraid one of us gave you a concussion."

She looked from Passepartout to Rizzo. "Which one?"

"Not entirely sure." Rizzo shrugged.

"They both hit you pretty hard." Jules contributed helpfully.

"Really?" She sighed and lay back. "We'll discuss this later, gentlemen."

"Try to rest. Our asses will be there later." Rizzo assured her. "You can kick them then."

*****

Rebecca groaned. "Phileas?"

"I'm here." 

"Could I have a drink?" she whispered.

He held a straw to her mouth. "Here. Slowly."

"Did they catch him?"

"Who?" Phileas asked, worried that she might still be delusional.

"The driver of that carriage." She smiled weakly at him. "What happened? I thought I was fighting the Count. Was that you?"

"Shh…"

"Oh, Lord. It was you. I'm so sorry, Phileas."

"No one is blaming you, Rebecca. You weren't in control. It wasn't you."

She sighed. "I'm still sorry."

"So am I." He enfolded her hand in his. "Get some rest."

*****

Rizzo knocked on Rebecca's bedroom door on their first day back aboard the Aurora. "Fogg?"

Phileas looked up. "Come in."

"I didn't wake her?"

"I was already awake."

He nodded. "Have you seen Blayne?"

He shook his head. "But then, I haven't been out of this room more than once."

He nodded. "Thanks. I'll leave you, then."

"Agent Rizzo." Rebecca called.

He paused. "Yes?"

"Did they ever find all of the contaminated drugs?"

He nodded slowly. "They scoured all of our warehouses and have managed to recall everything that was in transit. The people we supply have been warned and are being supplied with fresh, and clean, supplies."

"That's good." Rebecca said. "Any word on who did it?"

He sighed. "Not yet…"

"Damn."

Rizzo sighed again. "I've got to go find Blayne."

"Of course." Rebecca nodded. 'Thank you."

"Bye."

"Bye…" they both said as he left.

Rebecca sighed. "There goes a young man with a great deal of weight on his shoulders."

"He's too young for the job." Phileas observed. "Not much older than Verne, really. That's how people die."

Rebecca took his hand, smiling comfortingly. "Phileas…"

"I know." He sighed. "They are probably never going to catch the person who did this."

"I know." She echoed his sigh. "But they'll be more careful in the future, which is something."

"It's not much."

"I know…" Rebecca sighed again and squeezed his hand more tightly.

*****

"Jean, where is Blayne? I've looked everywhere. Twice." Rizzo sighed in exasperation.

"Bren is… hiding from you."

"I beg your pardon?" Rizzo scowled.

"Bren is feeling shame. Is not yet wanting to face it, I think."

Rizzo sighed. "I need to talk to her, to tell her it's okay. Jean. Please…"

"Is on top of balloon."

"I beg your- out there?" He pointed towards the sky, amazed.

Passepartout nodded. "But you is not hearing of it from Jean if she is asking."

"Of course not." Rizzo nodded. "Thanks." He turned to leave.

"Agent Rizzo?"

"Yeah, Jean?"

Passepartout sighed. "She is being very sad right now. You make her better, Jack."

"I'll do my best, Passepartout." Rizzo promised, starting up the stairs. 

Once he was on the deck, he realized that his greatest challenge was going to be getting on top of the balloon. Blayne would have been able to manage the ascent with ease, but she had spent years rock-climbing and doing yoga. Rizzo preferred to keep at least one foot on the ground. He stared over the edge, swallowing hard. Sighing, he grabbed onto the rigging and slowly started up.

"I know you're up here…" he panted as he reached the top. "I've looked everywhere else, so you must be up here."

She sighed. She was lying on her stomach watching the sunset. "I'm not ready to talk to you yet."

"Tough. I am ready to talk to you. Now." He sat down in front of her, obscuring her view. "Was it the drugs that made you kill the guard?"

"No… Yes. Possibly. I don't remember. It was like a bad dream. Maybe it was me. I don't know." She fell silent.

Rizzo sighed. "Blayne, don't shut me out."

"How can you still want to speak to me?" she demanded incredulously, pushing herself into a sitting position. 

"Quite easily." Rizzo brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "I've only got one best friend, you know, and I'm not about to let her spend the rest of her life moping."

"Then you aren't mad with me?" She shook her head, not quite crediting it.

"Oh, I'm furious with you. Just not for attacking me or killing that man. Those things I can understand. What I can't wrap my patchouli-soaked brain around is how you could lie to me about where you were getting your drugs from. Until you provide me with a more rational answer, I'm going to have to assume that that was the drugs, too."

She stared at him. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. It has to be one of the dumbest things you've ever done, Bren. It's not like you."

She bowed her head. "It wasn't the drugs. At least… I don't think it was."

He touched her cheek. "Tell me."

"I was afraid that if I told you that I was drinking a batch of patent medicine from the infirmary that you would put me on leave."

"And you'd have been right."

She nodded. "I didn't feel that you could afford to lose me right then. I felt fine…"

"Or thought you did. Sure." He nodded.

"I gambled and lost in a profession and at stakes where even a small miscalculation can be fatal."

"Actually, you made the right call."

"How do you figure?" she snorted.

"We could not have afforded to lose you. You were right about that. I would have pulled you, no question, and it would have been wrong of me. You did some good, Blayne, before you completely tripped out, no doubt about it."

She sighed. "You know what I hate about you?"

"How I can be so freaking reasonable at times?"

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. She leaned forward and hugged him. "We lost this one, Jack. Let's win the next one."

"I like that plan…" he whispered, holding her close.

*****

"Master Jules?" Passepartout peered into his workshop and saw Jules leaning over a test-tube. "What is you doing?"

"Oh, hi Passepartout." Jules gave him a strained smile. "Doctor Ramsey gave me a sample of the drug to work with. I'm trying to come up with a litmus test or something similar so that nothing like this can happen again."

"Is good idea. You be needing help?"

Jules gave a relieved smile. "Yes, actually. I could use some help." 

The two men worked together in relative silence for some kind, only speaking to convey instructions about their experimentation. Finally, Jules heaved a sigh.

"Something is wrong, Master Jules?"

He nodded weakly. "This whole thing feels… wrong." Jules sighed. "Like we should have done something differently. Like we should have…"

"Won?" Passepartout asked gently.

Jules nodded firmly. "Yes. Won."

Passepartout sighed and stared at the young man. Time for one of those hard lessons in life that you never wanted the young to learn, but that they eventually had to. "Miss Brenna is saying… 'Sometime the dragons be winning,' Master Jules. This time the dragon is winning."

Jules sighed. "It doesn't seem right."

"Is not. But is life." Passepartout sighed and looked down at the sample of drugs in his hand. It had just turned red under a drop of liquid from the beaker that Jules held in his hand. "Next time, the White Knights is winning."

****

The End


End file.
